


From the Ashes

by Jolli_Bean



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Connor, Bottom Hank Anderson, Canon Divergent but still pretty Canon Compliant, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Has a Penis, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Secret Identity, Secret Relationship, Top Connor, Top Hank Anderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 11:21:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 61,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21298613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jolli_Bean/pseuds/Jolli_Bean
Summary: In 2028, the Department of State approaches Elijah Kamski about developing a unique, dangerous android to meet their specific needs. It's not on any record book at CyberLife, and as far as anyone knows, after Kamski's death a few years later, the project falls out of development entirely.In 2033, Connor Stern joins the DPD as a detective. He works with Hank Anderson, and they orbit each other for years. They become friends, and then they fall in love. They decide their relationship is worth the risk to their jobs, and that they can hide it until Hank retires in 2039.But something is happening in Detroit. It builds slowly, but their world is about to change.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 64
Kudos: 267





	1. 2033 & 2034

_ December, 2035 _

Connor knows they shouldn’t be doing this.

They shouldn't be parked in some deserted alley, and they shouldn't be crowded into each other in the back of Hank's car, Connor seated in Hank's lap, head brushing the roof every time he forgets he can't straighten up all the way.

Hank shouldn't have his arms wrapped tight around Connor's waist, fingers digging into Connor's skin hard enough that he's sure he'll find bruises on his hips when he showers next, and Connor shouldn't keep kissing him. He knows that.

But he also knows he likes the taste of Hank's mouth, the glide of Hank's tongue over his, well enough that he's struggling to remember why they shouldn't be here.

(Hank is his partner, Hank is ranked above him, there are fraternization rules, but fuck if he can properly consider any of that right now.)

Connor tries to remember how they got here. Hank was having a rough day, although most of his days are rough lately.

Jeff gave him plenty of time off after the accident - he's only been back at work for three weeks, and in that time, Connor has found that Hank is frequently lost in thought and that he’s left being the one trying to fill the silence.

It's a stark contrast from the way things used to be between them, but Connor is desperate to be there for Hank, and so he doesn't mind.

They were coming back from a crime scene, and they stopped for lunch. Connor did most of the talking.

He asked Hank if he wanted to come over that weekend and watch the Gears game - Connor doesn't care for sports much himself, but he thought it might be good for Hank to get out of his house. He figured he could invite Chris and Tina, get some beer, make a night out of it.

They only ate an hour ago, but it's blurring together. Connor remembers the gratitude on Hank's face even if he said he needed to think about it. He remembers the quiet way Hank said, "I don't know what I did to deserve you."

He remembers Hank getting into the driver's side of the car after lunch and bracing his hands against the steering wheel like he needed a moment, and he remembers reaching across the console and laying his hand over Hank's.

One of them kissed the other, and no matter how he tries, Connor can't remember who moved first.

And so here they are, crashing into each other in the backseat of Hank's car, and it feels like the start of something, of the two of them, even if Connor can't remember how it started at all.

Connor has his head ducked to Hank's neck, sucking at the pulse point there, and he whispers, "We should stop," even as he tries to leave a mark behind in his wake, some proof to himself that they were here, that he was.

Hank nods against him, says, "I know." His voice is so rough in Connor's ear that it sends warmth curling low in Connor's belly.

They're in agreement, then...but they don't stop.

And here's the truth, maybe - this is the start of something, but it isn't the only start.

They've been hurtling towards this for a while, since Connor walked into the DPD that first day and the desk across from Hank's was the only one that was empty, since Connor shook Hank's hand.

They've had a hundred starts over the years, enough that Connor doesn't know how to say where they truly began, except to start at the beginning.

* * *

_ August, 2033 _

Connor Stern moved to Detroit after Amanda accepted the teaching position in London.

It wouldn't have needed to be Detroit - he applied to two dozen forces, some in Michigan, some in other states. Detroit was just the one that hired him first.

He and Amanda left Ann Arbor within the same week. In some ways, Connor would have liked it if they both stayed - he liked their lives there. But he knew his adoptive mother had felt stagnant teaching artificial intelligence at the University of Michigan for years now, and Europe was years ahead of America in her field in terms of research.

They were each other's only family, and Amanda hadn't wanted to leave him, but it was the right thing for her, and Connor wanted to see her keep moving forward.

And maybe it was time for him to move forward, too.

So he applied to openings across the country, because he needed a change of scenery, and he took the position in narcotics in Detroit for an entirely arbitrary reason, just because they were the first ones to call him back.

Connor moves to a small apartment in Detroit on a warm August weekend, and the next Monday, he walks into the DPD with his box of things, a few books and a desk lamp and a succulent Amanda gave him years ago.

(He doesn't have much of a green thumb, but Amanda did. She told him even he wouldn't be able to kill it, and she was right.)

"Detective Stern?" one of the officers at the front of the bullpen says when Connor walks in. He gets up, crossing around his desk to shake Connor's hand.

"Connor is fine," Connor says, and the officer smiles.

"Chris," he says, clapping Connor companionably on the shoulder. "I was on the search committee, so I've been looking through all your files for the last month. It's nice to meet you." Chris motions for Connor to follow him. "Your desk is over here...Hank! Got fresh meat for you!"

Connor met Hank once before, during the interview process, but while this isn't the first introduction, it's maybe not the way he would prefer to be announced to the lieutenant who looks like he walked out of one of Connor's wet dreams.

Connor schools his face, trying at least not to make it obvious as Hank Anderson gets up to greet him, grasping Connor's hand.

"Hey, Connor," Hank says. "Did the move go okay?"

"It did, thank you."

Hank gestures to the empty desk across from his. "Got this cleaned off for you. Get yourself settled, and I'll walk you down to HR in a bit."

Connor puts his few things on his desk. While he scans the case files there, he sneaks a glance at Hank as he talks to Chris. Connor knows more about Hank Anderson than he should, because he believes in doing his research, and so he knows everything publicly available about Hank's career.

He also knows that Hank got divorced last year, and that, given Hank's genial tone when he mentioned he was getting dinner with his ex after Connor's interview, they're on good, amicable terms.

Connor thinks that says something significant about Hank's character, something that he likes.

(Connor also thinks he's being fucking creepy and that he needs to be a little less enamored with a man he doesn’t actually know at all...but then again, he didn’t get to this point in his career without being just a touch obsessive.)

It’s not Connor’s first day as a cop altogether, but it is his first for a new precinct - he’s young enough at thirty that he’s only ever worked for one PD in Ann Arbor. It’s his first day as a detective, too, so while this isn’t his first day walking out of the academy, he’s nervous like it is.

Still, Connor likes the people on the force, at least the ones he’s met. Chris Miller comes up to him one other time while he waits for Hank, sits on Connor’s desk like they’re old friends and asks Connor if he wants to get dinner after work.

“There’s a buffet up the road,” Chris says. “Hole in the wall, but the food is good, and it’s all you can eat. You in?”

Connor promised Amanda he would get himself a cat or a dog so he wasn’t going home to an empty apartment, but he hasn’t done that yet, so he agrees.

“Good,” Chris says, clapping him on the arm. “Tina usually comes with me...did you meet Tina yet?” At the look on Connor’s face, Chris turns and yells, “Tina! Come here!”

So Connor meets Tina Chen, Chris’ partner, and he likes her, too. His old force in Ann Arbor tended to run older, and while Connor doesn’t come to work to make friends, he’s not sorry to find more people closer to his age with the DPD.

Jeffrey Fowler comes out of his office to greet Connor, shakes his hand and tells Connor how happy they are to have him, and by that point, Hank is done with the phone calls he was making, setting the receiver aside.

“Come on,” Hank says. “I’ll walk you down to do your hiring paperwork, and then we can go get coffee or something.”

Connor assumes Hank means coffee from the break room. “That’s okay,” he says as he follows Hank out of the bullpen. “I don’t drink coffee.”

Hank looks him over and says, “Tea, then? Or a smoothie? There’s a shop around the corner that does whatever, and it’s on me.”

Which is how Connor realizes all at once that Hank is talking about taking him out for a drink.

(If he had known that, he would have just pretended to like coffee for fear of jeopardizing it.)

And sure, _ some _ of that is because Hank is nice to look at, but _ most _ of it is because Connor was hired to be Hank’s partner and because Connor is a professional. He wants to get to know Hank, be a good partner for him, because that’s his job. He valued the relationship he had with his partner in Ann Arbor, likes that it was built on mutual trust and respect, and he wants the same here.

Everything else, whatever attraction he feels, is just white noise. Connor knows how to tune it out and do his job well.

They walk down the block to the coffee shop when Connor is done with HR, and Connor finds that it’s some artisan hipster place that he wouldn’t expect Hank to frequent at all.

“Do you come here often?” Connor asks while they wait for their drinks.

Hank shrugs, smiling a little, like he knows what Connor is thinking. “The coffee in the break room is shit, and this is the only place within walking distance.”

_ Well _ , Connor thinks, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. _ Fair enough _.

Connor knows plenty about Hank already, but as they sit across from each other at the coffee shop, he pretends to know nothing at all. He asks where in the city Hank lives (on Michigan Drive, down by the river), about Hank’s own accomplishments (he’s best known for a red ice bust a few years back that got decent publicity), about Hank’s family (his ex-wife, Jen, and his three year old son, Cole).

“I’m sorry,” Connor says when Hank mentions his ex, but Hank just shrugs.

“We got married for Cole...thought it would be best for him, you know? I think we both knew it wasn’t going to work, and it’s not always nice only seeing Cole some of the time, but better that his parents are happy alone than...not happy together, you know?”

Connor nods. “My mom was a single mother. That’s a different situation, I guess, but I never needed her to be married to know she loved me.”

“Yeah,” Hank says. “Exactly. What does your mom do?”

“She used to teach AI at University of Michigan, but she got a research position at a school in London.”

Hank hums at that. “She must be smart.”

Connor always feels proud of Amanda, but it still blooms fresh in his chest. “She is.”

“Guess that’s why you’re out here making detective so young.”

Connor would mention that he’s adopted, but Hank knows that. And since it isn’t everyone who understands that Connor can and did inherit many of Amanda’s traits without being her biological son, he’s grateful.

“Something like that,” Connor says, smiling as he takes another sip of his drink.

Chris asks Hank if he wants to join them for dinner that night. Hank declines, says Jen is bringing Cole over and he needs to get home. And Connor won’t admit it, but there’s a pinprick of disappointment somewhere inside him as he watches Hank leave for the day.

He likes Hank, he’s decided. He isn’t surprised that he does - Hank has years of experience on Connor and an impressive record, and Connor knows he can learn from him. But Connor likes Hank personally, too (well beyond just wanting to see if Hank is as strong and as capable of pinning Connor down as he looks, yes, because Connor will never act on that).

He thinks, in time, they’ll be friends.

He looks forward to it.

It's clear when Connor goes out to dinner with Chris and Tina that night that they've been partners for a while - they know each other well, but they're both so friendly and outgoing that it's impossible for Connor to feel like the odd man out, even if he is new.

He goes home that night thinking that it was a good first day. He's too late to call Amanda - the time zone difference is going to take some coordination and getting used to, and with his unpredictable schedule, he's sure he'll end up talking to her less than he likes.

Connor retrieves his phone and texts her instead.

"Hey, Mom. Just wanted to let you know my first day went really well. I went out to dinner with a few of the officers, and I like my partner. Miss you - have a good day when you wake up."

Connor checks the clock on his nightstand. Amanda should be up in another two hours or so. He sets his alarm and puts his phone aside, and it's some comfort to be sure that he'll wake up to a text from her.

"Proud of you, baby," it says when he checks it the next morning. "Call me later if you can."

As he gets ready, Connor thinks that Amanda was right that he needs a pet in this apartment - he's never lived alone, and while it isn't tragic, he would prefer to come home to a place where something else lives, too.

He tells himself he'll go to the humane society on his next day off.

Connor gets to work early that morning - early enough to swing by the coffeeshop and get a breakfast sandwich for himself and the same dark roast Hank ordered for himself yesterday.

(Connor realizes that it must seem like he was paying intentional attention to Hank's order so he could do this, but in reality, he's always just had a sharp memory.)

He's also just trying to be nice. He did this every now and then for his partner in Ann Arbor, too, and he certainly wasn't trying to flirt with _ him _.

Hank is already at his desk when Connor walks in, so he crosses the bullpen to his terminal and slides the coffee across his desk to Hank's.

"Returning the favor," he says when Hank looks up at him, smiling and pulling his sandwich out of his bag.

The next morning, Hank is there before him again, but this time with the flavored iced tea Connor ordered for himself when they were together, and the same sandwich Connor had the previous day.

And that's how they fall into the pattern of alternating the breakfast run.

Connor goes to a bar with Chris, Tina, and Tina's girlfriend, Alexis, a coroner, that weekend. He's out of practice, but he's still unsettlingly good at darts even when he's had a few drinks - that was an old party trick he used to trot out in Ann Arbor, usually at his partner's drunken urging.

He goes over to dinner at Chris' house the next week, meets Chris' wife, Lena, and their newborn baby girl, Zoe.

He adopts a cat from the humane society, an older tabby cat with a torn up ear and a bobtail who he - rather cleverly - names Tabby, that weekend. He video chats with Amanda for the first time that night, and she walks him through her research, and it feels like he's home.

He settles in at the DPD. He and Hank work well together - Hank is brash and Connor is calculating and they both have the same dogged focus. They complement each other, and their working relationship feels easy in a way Connor isn't entirely used to.

He worked well with his previous partner, too, but they both _ worked _ at that relationship. It doesn’t feel like work with Hank. The only time they aren’t in sync is every day at lunchtime when they have to agree on where to go - although even then, they could just go their own ways, and instead they always end up going together

He and Hank aren't friends the way Connor is with Chris and Tina - he can't entirely imagine Hank ever coming out to a bar with them, and Hank has never invited him over - but they're friends all the same.

Connor values Hank just as much as either of them, and in some ways more. It never feels like there are as many years separating them as there are. Hank understands his single-mindedness and his dedication in ways most people usually don't, and that's a welcome change.

Connor likes to be pushed, and Hank does, too, so they push each other to be better.

The weeks pass - the chill of autumn rolls in and the leaves begin to fall, and Detroit starts to feel a bit more like home and a place Connor belongs.

* * *

So that’s one way they start, one catalyst for what they are to each other and what they become. It’s so simple, and so innocuous - Connor remembering Hank’s drink order, just to realize that Hank also memorized his.

It’s more than that, though.

That small thing, something as small as their traditional breakfast runs, is the start of the two of them taking care of each other.

It happens again in December. It’s two weeks before Christmas, and holiday lights are strung up through the city. Connor has caught Hank Christmas shopping for Cole and Jen at his desk a few times recently.

“That’s nice of you,” Connor says at some point.

“What is?”

“Getting your ex-wife a gift.”

“Is it?” Hank asks. “I thought it was just basic decency.”

Connor shrugs. “I don’t buy any of my exes presents.” He doesn’t mention that he has exactly two of them, one not so serious and one who he used to live with in Ann Arbor.

Hank gives him a small smile. “You still friends with your exes, Con?”

“Not really.”

“Well,” Hank says, “there you go.”

Connor likes that about Hank - his refusal to dramatize anything, his determination to keep things simple. He holds up a hand in understanding and goes back to his work.

Hank and Connor are mostly working on a drug ring case these days, and they have a lead from a stakeout Chris and Tina worked last night. They go to the abandoned apartment complex where they think red ice is being cooked and shipped, and they walk through the building - empty today, as far as they can tell.

“You going anywhere for the holidays?” Hank asks as they do, once they’re fairly certain it’s clear.

“My mom is flying home from London for a few days,” Connor says.

Hank nods. “If you didn’t, I was going to say you could come to my place...”

Glass crunches underfoot somewhere up ahead of them, and Hank hears it too, because he stops talking and raises his gun.

Connor does the same beside him. “Hey!” he calls into the room. “DPD. Come out with your hands raised.”

The thing about drug dealers, Hank has said, is that they almost always panic and run. He doesn’t know why that is, but they do.

This is no different. The man - slight build, wearing a thick coat and a beanie - turns and runs back to the bedroom. They hear the glass shattering as he goes out the window to the roof.

Connor doesn’t hesitate - he tries to go after him, even as Hank catches him by the shoulder.

“Let it go,” he growls in Connor’s ear, but Connor shrugs away from him and presses on, hoisting himself out the window and onto the roof.

Connor has always been sort of stupidly lucky with things like this - he’s never been hurt, no matter what kind of reckless shit he pulls, and maybe that’s made him stupid. But he tears across the roof after the suspect anyway, following him across and down the fire escape.

It’s been snowing, though, and Connor loses his footing on the slick ice covering the metal steps. His ankle twists painfully under him, and he watches as the man turns the corner and disappears down the alley.

“Fuck,” Connor mutters, getting a hand on the railing and trying to hoist himself up. Gingerly, he puts weight on his ankle. It isn’t broken, he doesn’t think, but it does hurt, so he sinks back down onto the step.

Hank catches up with him a minute later - he went back through the apartment, and Connor looks down at the footsteps crunching in the snow to see him under the fire escape. “You okay?” Hank calls up to him.

“Yeah,” Connor says, wincing. “Slipped and hurt my ankle.”

Hank climbs the fire escape until he’s close enough to offer Connor his hand, pulling him back to his feet. “I told you not to go.”

“I know,” Connor says. “I just thought I had him.”

“Okay,” Hank says, looking him over. “Can you walk?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Alright. I’ve got you.” Hank pulls Connor’s arm around his shoulders and helps him down the stairs. “I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

“I’m fine,” Connor groans. “I’ll just stay off of it for the rest of the day, and it’ll be fine.”

Hank reaches up and ruffles a hand through his hair. “Nice try, Con. Let’s go.”

They came in Connor’s car, but Hank loads him into the passenger seat and drives to the hospital across town.

“I can get a cab home,” Connor says in the waiting room. “You should get back to work.”

Hank fixes him with a stern look. “I’m going to drive you home. Okay?”

His tone doesn’t leave much room for argument. Connor glances away and says, “Okay.”

It’s just a bad sprain - Connor is supposed to rest it for a few days, and they give him some painkillers, but that’s it.

Honestly, Connor wishes it was worse. At least he would feel less shitty about letting their suspect slip him then.

“You’re really beating yourself up over this, aren’t you?” Hank asks in the car on the way home. “You know we’ll close this now that we have a location.”

“I know,” Connor says. He doesn’t know how to explain that he’s caught guys in more daring chases than this one, or that he isn’t used to slipping up without sounding petulant about it, so he keeps it to himself.

Hank helps him up to his apartment when they get there, and he calls and orders a pizza while Connor changes, and they sit together and watch reruns of some sitcom while they eat.

It’s the first time Connor has had someone at his place.

He doesn’t realize until later that Hank had Cole that night, or that he texted his sitter and asked her to stay a few hours later so he could get Connor home, so Connor wouldn’t be alone.

So it starts there, too, their relationship, the two of them looking out for each other. 

Or at least, it grows from there.

* * *

Christmas passes. Amanda comes to visit, and it's good to have her there, in his new home, even if it's only for a few days.

Connor gives Hank the present he bought for him - a nice bottle of whiskey, because even though Connor originally bought him a shirt with a characteristically loud pattern, he talked himself out of giving it to Hank at the last minute. Clothes felt too intimate, and _ sure _, he still thinks Hank is easy on the eyes, but mostly he just values his friendship and doesn't want to do anything to jeopardize it

So he decides the whiskey is safer.

Hank didn't get the memo about gifts that may be too intimate. There's a package waiting on Connor's desk, neatly wrapped with a hand-tied bow. Inside, there's a tie with a subtle polka dot pattern - Connor only ever wears solids, and Hank has commented on it before - and a bag of treats and a ball for Connor's cat.

"I know you don't like patterns," Hank says, nodding at the tie. "But I thought we could stretch your comfort zone a little bit."

It's perfect, and Connor really regrets talking himself out of giving Hank the shirt for whatever stupid reasons he told himself mattered.

On New Year's Eve, Connor goes with Chris and Tina to some fancy cocktail bar downtown. It's special because it's a nicer scene than they usually frequent, a treat to themselves, but also because Hank comes with them this time.

They invite him almost every time they go out, and usually he can't, because of Cole or because of his dog, but Cole is on vacation with Jen and her boyfriend, and for once, his dog walker has time in her schedule to swing by and let Sumo out in the evening.

Connor tells himself as he gets ready that he would be pulling out his good suit regardless. There's a dress code at the bar, after all. 

And that may very well be true, but Connor has other ties. He doesn't think too long about why he chooses to wear the one Hank gave him - he knows that line of thought will take him somewhere dangerous, and so he willfully ignores it.

When Connor gets to the bar, the others are already there. Hank doesn't comment on the tie, but Connor watches his eyes linger on it, and he sees the smile that lifts the corner of Hank's mouth.

Chris is a lightweight, as usual, and Tina is flushed after a few drinks, too. Connor goes to the bar to get them a few bottles of water, and while he waits, he feels a warm hand on his back as Hank comes up beside him.

"Hi," Hank says when Connor looks at him, nodding over his shoulder. "Are they always this much fun?"

Connor snorts. "I usually have to put them in a cab at the end of the night, if that's what you're asking."

Hank laughs at that, leaning back against the bar. He looks like he's going to say something else, and like he's trying to find the words. Connor raises an eyebrow, nudging him with his elbow.

"Hey," he says. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Hank says quickly. "I'm not sure I'm supposed to tell anyone yet, so keep it between us, but I made lieutenant."

It takes Connor a moment to register what Hank is saying. "Holy shit," he says when it sets in. "Hank, that's amazing."

Hank nods, smiling a bit. "We'll still work together, of course."

Connor wasn't going to ask, but it is the first question that occurred to him, and he's relieved to have it answered immediately.

"I'm sure I'd be honored, Lieutenant," Connor says with a wink that he certainly would not have thrown in if he wasn't feeling warm and heady from the alcohol.

Hank grins, though, and grasps Connor by the elbow, pulling him into his arms.

It only lasts a moment, but Hank's fingers tangle in Connor's hair, and Hank says, "I couldn't do any of this shit without you, Con. You're a good partner," and Connor thinks about those words as he falls asleep for weeks.

* * *

Hank says those words one other time, almost exactly the way he said them that night, in June of 2034. He’s being honored for his service at the annual awards banquet Michigan holds for state police departments every year.

He’s dressed in a grey suit that Connor would desperately like to compliment him on, because he thinks Hank deserves to know when he looks good, although he can’t quite find the words without sounding like he’s flirting.

Connor has been very careful not to jeopardize their working relationship. He wants to continue to be careful.

But Hank accepts his award and locks eyes with Connor where he sits and says, “I couldn’t do any of this shit without my partner. I’m blessed to work with someone who brings out the best in me.”

Connor feels his face heating when Hank smiles at him. It was one thing for Hank to whisper that sentiment in his ear in a dark bar, and it’s quite another for him to say it here, publicly, among their coworkers and people they’ve never met.

Connor raises his glass to Hank, mostly because people are looking at him and he wants to do something other than merely flush like an idiot.

(It starts there, too. God, it absolutely starts there, even if Connor can’t see it yet.)

Hank doesn’t mean anything by it, Connor figures. He’s just being gracious, because Hank is a good partner, too. He bends over backwards giving Connor the credit he thinks he deserves, even if it’s sometimes more than Connor would give himself.

Hank has no way of knowing that Connor is sitting there thinking about kissing the taste of champagne from his mouth, about pulling his tie loose and opening the buttons of Hank’s shirt and nipping at the line of his collarbone. He has no way of knowing that Connor left his interview with the DPD and thought about his own lips spread around Hank’s cock, about Hank fucking his mouth, and he certainly doesn’t know that Connor still thinks about it when he needs to get off but nothing else is working, except now it’s so much worse, because Connor is...because he feels _ something _ for him.

Hank doesn’t know that, and neither does anyone else in the banquet hall with them. They see two partners with a stellar case record and positive regard for one another, and they see Connor raising his glass to acknowledge a compliment, and that’s all, because no one knows the language of subtlety Connor must speak in just to express his feelings for Hank at all.

Connor ducks outside after Hank’s award is given, retrieving a cigarette from his car even though he quit when he moved to Detroit, just because he has to take the edge off of his sharp thoughts.

He means to be alone, but Hank finds him not long after, the soft echo of music echoing out from the banquet hall when he opens the door.

“Hey,” Hank says. He’s too kind to comment on the cigarette.

“Hi,” Connor says. Hank didn’t ask, but he adds, “I was just getting some air.”

Hank leans back against the wall beside him. “Want company?”

Connor scuffs the toe of his shoe along the pavement and nods. “That was...kind of you,” he says, even though what he means is, “I would get on my knees for you if you asked me to, and maybe if you didn’t.”

Hank shrugs. “It’s true.”

Connor bites the inside of his cheek and waits a moment, letting the stupid desire to say something else pass. “You’re a good partner, too.”

They’re silent for a moment, and then Hank says, “You clean up nice, you know.”

Connor swallows hard and hopes Hank doesn’t see. “So do you.”

Connor goes home that night and retrieves the shirt he didn’t give Hank for Christmas from the back of his closet. It’s large on him, hanging low enough to cover several inches of his thigh. He sleeps in it that night, even though that’s silly, because of course it was never Hank’s shirt at all. He tries to remember the scent of Hank’s cologne as they stood together earlier that evening as he tucks his nose against the fabric.

It shouldn’t work, but it does.

Connor tries to tell himself this is still just the attraction he felt to Hank when he first met him, that it’s white noise, that he can ignore it.

But then, Connor has never been much good at kidding himself.

So he tries something else instead.

“I love you,” he whispers to no one, just to test the weight of the words on his tongue, to see if they feel true.

(They do.)

* * *

It feels earth-shattering, that revelation, but in reality it changes nothing. Connor arrives at work the next day to find his usual breakfast order waiting on his desk for him, and everything else unchanged.

"Morning, Connor," Hank says without looking up at him.

Connor reaches for his sandwich. "Hi, Hank."

Nothing has changed at all.

The months pass. Occasionally, Connor thinks about telling Hank how he feels, but he's never been much for gambling.

And it _ is _ a gamble. Even if Hank felt the same, they can't both keep their jobs and be together. Connor could look for another job - Hank has been at the DPD longer, so that would be fair - but he knows from his previous search that most of the openings in Michigan's police departments are for entry-level patrol officer roles, and even those are scarce.

It's one of the few jobs that doesn't seem like it will be overtaken by android workers any time soon, and so people have flocked to law enforcement as a career in recent years.

And Connor likes being a detective. He worked hard to get here. He _ likes _ working with Hank.

So he tries to just let things alone.

And it works, for a while. He and Hank maintain their excellent case record, and they alternate who picks up breakfast every day, and they argue over where they're going for lunch, and everything stays the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm most active (yelling and writing other things like this!) on [twitter!](http://twitter.com/Jolli_Bean) You can also catch me reblogging HankCon art on [tumblr.](http://jolli-bean.tumblr.com) Come chat with me!


	2. 2035

2034 passes without event. On New Year’s Eve, Hank joins Connor when he goes out to the expensive cocktail bar downtown with Chris and Tina again.

And maybe it's because the place is crowded, maybe it's because there's nowhere to go to get away from everyone, or maybe it's just because some god in heaven or hell is trying to torture Connor, but he and Hank end up pressed together in a dark corner at the back of the bar while they wait for Chris and Tina to get their things. They're close enough that it would take nothing for Connor to arch into the barrel of Hank's chest, or for Hank to grasp him by the backs of his thighs and hoist Connor's legs up around his waist.

Connor almost has to laugh at himself - or he would, if he wasn't sweating. It's a dangerous, sort of stupid game, thinking about getting fucked against the wall by his partner when Hank is standing right in front of him, but here he is anyway.

Hank looks down at him, at his mouth, catches the small upward lift at the corner of it before Connor can hide it. "What's funny?" he asks.

"Nothing," Connor says quickly, shaking his head and schooling his face. And maybe it's the alcohol that makes him do it, but Connor raises a fist and knocks it against Hank's chest. "I'm glad you came."

It sounds less intimate and less like a secret when Connor has to raise his voice over the music just to be heard. That’s good, he thinks. A relief.

Hank smiles at that. "Listen," he starts, rubbing the back of his neck. "If you ever wanted to..."

What he was going to say, Connor doesn't know, because Chris and Tina materialize out of the crowd then. "Sorry! I couldn't find my coat!" Tina yells over the music.

Connor smiles at her but turns an expectant look back to Hank, waiting for him to finish the thought. 

But it's gone, whatever it was. Hank just gives Connor a small smile and lays a hand on his shoulder, guiding him outside after Tina and Chris.

"Come on," Hank says. "Better get them home."

Connor waits for it to come up again, whatever Hank was going to say. It never does, and he's never brave enough to ask.

He thinks maybe nothing is going to change in 2035, either.

* * *

And for the most part, nothing does.

Connor meets Jen in March. She comes by the precinct still wearing her doctor's coat from work. She left her keys at the hospital and is late to pick up Cole from school, so she stops to borrow Hank's spare instead since the precinct is closer.

"Oh, Connor!" she says when Hank introduces them, sweeping her wild curls away from her face before she reaches to shake Connor's hand. "Hank's told me so much about you, I feel like I know you already!"

"Hopefully not all bad," Connor says. It’s a lame attempt at a joke.

Jen scoffs loudly at that, lightly slapping his shoulder like they're already old friends. "Please, you know he loves working with you. You should come by for dinner sometime. Hank likes to tell horror stories, but I cook good spaghetti."

Connor _ has _ heard horror stories about Jen's cooking, although they're always told in Hank's usual good-natured way.

Before he can answer, Jen says, "I need to run, but we'll set something up. It's really nice to meet you, Connor."

"See you, Jen," Hank calls after her, even though she's already starting towards the door.

Jen _ does _ try to set something up, but her work schedule at the hospital doesn't overlap much with Hank's. It's a large part of why they didn't work, Connor knows.

"With how unreliable her job is, she needed someone who could be stable for her," Hank told Connor when he first started at the DPD, when they were still learning each other.

"Is that stability?" Connor had asked - not to challenge Jen or say she was wrong, but just because he was curious. "Having someone with steady hours to come home to?"

Hank had shrugged in response. "I don't know. It was for her, and I think it was a fine enough thing for her to want."

"Is that what stability is to you?" Connor had wanted to ask, but he didn't quite know how to come around it at the time, and he still doesn't. He wants to know what Hank wants in his life, but he doesn't know how to ask.

They try for months to have that dinner. It never quite works out.

In May, Hank and Connor are saddled with another red ice ring. It initially comes to their attention from a slew of burglary reports, people in affluent neighborhoods reporting that they sent their domestic androids on errands and the machines never came back.

They think at first it's just more of the usual shit they see, people stealing things to resell them to make ends meet in the midst of the unemployment crisis.

It takes them a few weeks, and several of the missing androids turning up in a dumpster with their thirium receptacles drained, to realize they're being stolen so the thirium can be harvested to cook red ice.

It turns up a whole ring, one Hank and Connor have trouble getting at no matter how many lower dealers they collar.

They're at the precinct late one night, tucked away in one of the empty interrogation rooms where it's quiet, poring over their case files. Hank is as calm as he ever is, but Connor is frustrated. It's longer than they've ever taken to make progress on a case like this, and there's a proud part of him that doesn't like being outwitted.

He's trying to hide it, because it doesn't do them any good here, but Hank sees it anyway. "Come on," he says as the clock is closing in on midnight. "Let's go out and get some air."

"And go where?" Connor asks. "Everywhere is closed."

Hank shrugs. "We're overdue to get a drink somewhere that isn't that overpriced hotel, aren't we?"

It's tempting, but Connor also wants to feel like he's made some sort of progress with this, at least found a lead for them to follow tomorrow. He gives Hank a reproving glance and turns back to the case records. "We're close to something here."

"Yeah, maybe, or maybe not, but you're no good to me if you're overworked and not thinking clearly." Hank nods at the case files on the desk in front of Connor. "Bring those with you, if you want. We can go back to my place and keep going through them. But we're taking a break first."

"Hank..."

"I'm buying," Hank says, pulling the files away from Connor and tucking them under his arm. "Let's go."

Connor gets up and trails after him, pulling on his coat. He doesn’t know if he’s following his work or Hank or both, but maybe it doesn’t matter.

Connor is aware that Jimmy’s is Hank’s bar, but he’s never been here before. It’s some dingy sports bar, not really Connor’s scene, but Hank likes it, so he doesn’t complain.

Connor seats himself at one of the bar tables while Hank goes to order. He comes back a minute later with a whiskey for himself and a beer for Connor.

“Thanks,” Connor says, taking a sip.

“I think you’d sleep at the precinct if I let you.”

“Yeah,” Connor admits. “Probably.”

Connor is anxious to get back to their files, so they only have the one drink, although Connor likes this, too, being in Hank’s world. They spend most of their lives together at work, but little time outside of it.

Connor thinks they should do this more often. Maybe he’ll initiate it next time.

“Feel better?” Hank asks as they leave the bar.

“Yeah,” Connor admits. “I do.”

Connor has never been inside Hank’s house before, either. He’s parked in the driveway to pick Hank up and drop him off a few times when his old beater was in the shop - it’s an unreliable thing, but Hank refuses to trade it in.

Still, Connor has learned that, despite the loud clothes and the fact that Hank would eat Chicken Feed burgers for lunch every day if Connor didn’t sometimes insist on a change of scenery, Hank’s life is generally more put together than he might expect, and his house is no different. The furniture is plain but clean, the bookshelves - Connor already knows Hank has resisted the move to digital - neatly organized, and the carpet has been freshly vacuumed.

Sumo, who Connor has looked at pictures of on Hank’s desk every day since starting at the DPD, appears at Connor’s side, nosing immediately under his hand for a pet.

“Make yourself at home,” Hank says. “I’m going to go take a shower quick, and then we can keep talking through those files.”

Connor’s mind is tired, and it stutters briefly over the thought of Hank’s hair hanging wet over his neck, of the smell of Hank’s soap fresh on his skin. “Okay,” he says, and if his voice comes out small, Hank doesn’t comment on it.

Connor seats himself on the couch, leaned back against the arm with his legs over the cushions. He’s starting to pull out the case files when his phone rings. He would ignore anyone else, but it’s Amanda’s ringtone, so he slips it out of his pocket and answers it. “Hey, Mom,” he says. And, before she can chide him about it, he adds, “Sorry, I know I haven’t called in a while. I’ve been busy.”

“Difficult case?” Amanda asks. “I thought you would be in bed by now - I was just going to leave a voicemail.”

“Yeah,” Connor says. He thinks about telling her he’s at Hank’s house working late, but decides to keep that to himself. Amanda is too good at reading him, and he doesn’t want her to know he’s in love with his partner. She would just worry.

“Listen,” Amanda says, “I won’t keep you. I just wanted to see if you might be able to get a few days off work in October. I’m presenting our research at a symposium, and I thought you could come for that and spend a few days. We could go into the city if you wanted, or just stay home and hang out.”

“Yeah,” Connor says quickly. Amanda came to visit him once, and he’s been to visit her once since, but they’ve seen far too little of each other since the move. “I’ll talk to Jeff tomorrow, but it should be fine. Send me the dates?”

“Sure, sweetie,” Amanda says. “I’ll let you go. Don’t work yourself too hard, okay?”

“Okay. Night, Mom.”

Connor slips his phone into his pocket, but he’s tired enough that he doesn’t remember anything else before he falls asleep on Hank’s couch, listening to the sound of water running in the shower.

When he wakes up, he’s foggy enough that he figures he’s been out for hours. It takes him a moment to realize Hank is tucking a blanket around him, and longer to look at the clock and realize only a few minutes have passed.

“Hey,” Connor says groggily. “Sorry, I was talking to my mom...”

“Were you?” Hank asks. “I didn’t hear you - figured you passed out the second I went back.”

“No, I’m good. I’m up. Just needed to close my eyes for a minute.” Hank raises an eyebrow, looking skeptical, and Connor would push back if only his eyes weren’t so heavy.

“You want to sleep here tonight?” Hank asks, and Connor may not want to admit defeat, but after a moment, he nods.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Is that okay?”

“Sure. I’ll even make you eggs in the morning.”

“Ooh. All-inclusive,” Connor says, which is not a joke he should make, given the situation, but he’s too tired to care.

Hank smiles. “You want the bed? Or some sweats to sleep in?”

“No, that’s okay. I’m good like this.”

Connor lays his head back and closes his eyes. He’s almost asleep before Hank even gets to his feet, but not so much that he doesn’t feel Hank gently ruffle his hair.

“Night, Con.”

If he were any more awake, Connor would feel guilty for liking Hank’s scent around him, for the way it comforts him.

As things are, though, he just falls back to sleep.

* * *

Connor figured they were joking, but he does wake up to Hank making him eggs in the morning.

"Hank..." he groans, voice still rough with sleep as he shuffles into the kitchen. "You didn't actually have to cook."

Hank glances over his shoulder at him. "I'm not going to have you stay here and not feed you." He turns and gestures towards the table. "Sit down."

Connor does, pushing a hand through his hair. "Usually I have to put out if I want some guy to make me breakfast."

It's another ill-considered joke, but Hank still snorts at it. "Yeah, well. My cooking's shit enough to be free." He slides a plate across the table, and Connor gives him a grateful smile.

Hank's cooking is not shit - or maybe Connor's is just exceptionally awful and he's desensitized to it. He isn't sure which it is, and he would tell Hank as much, but he's not sure he can get away with fawning over his scrambled eggs on top of everything else without being too transparent.

"Thanks," he settles for saying instead.

"Don't mention it. Somebody has to look out for you."

They sit there and have breakfast together, and Connor tries not to wonder if or when this might happen again. It's nice, sitting across from Hank, both of them still sleep-mussed and a little unkempt, without any pretenses.

He tries not to like it too much.

It does happen again, twice that summer, both times in association with the same red ice ring. They still haven't cracked it.

It's never taken them this long to put something away.

"Look, it took us three years to wrap up that red ice case back in '32," Hank tells Connor at some point. "These bigger rings, where people just keep taking the fall for the people at the top...they take a while to close."

So the summer passes, and then September. Connor is supposed to fly out to Amanda's symposium in the evening on October 11th, and he thinks about canceling entirely, but Hank talks him out of it.

"I've got this," he says. "If anything major develops, I'll call you."

Connor doesn't want to be away from the case, but he doesn't want to cancel on Amanda, either, so he lets Hank talk him out of it. 

Three days later on the 11th, once he's packed up his things, he goes around to Hank's desk. "You promise you'll call me if you need anything?" he asks.

"Yeah. I promise," Hank laughs. "Go on. Have a good time."

"Okay." Connor shoulders his bag and tosses his coat over his arm. "I'll see you in a few days."

"See you, Con."

Connor doesn't fly out for another few hours, but he's already left instructions for the neighbor girl taking care of his cat, and there's no real reason to go home, so he drives to the airport anyway. He figures he can get dinner a while, and he has a book loaded onto his tablet to read while he waits - some novel Hank recommended a while back.

It’s a good decision, in the end. It forces Connor to be still for a while, and to relax.

His flight is starting to board when his phone rings. Connor almost ignores it, but when he slips it out of his pocket, it's Fowler's cell. There's a text from Chris in his notifications, too. There’s no reason for both of them to be trying to get a hold of him, unless...

"Oh, fuck," Connor whispers. He doesn't know what's wrong, but something is.

His first thought is that it’s Hank. Fuck, he _ knows _ it’s Hank. Chris would call if it was Tina, not Fowler.

Connor steps out of the boarding line, his hand shaking where he grips his phone. It’s only a second or two, but that’s enough time for him to run through everything that may have happened. Hank could have gone to investigate a scene alone, some lead on their drug ring, and if someone was there and got the jump on him, he could have been stabbed, or shot.

He might not even be alive right now. Connor swallows the bile rising in his throat at the thought.

He tries twice to press the button to pick up the call, but he’s shaking so badly that his finger slips the first time. “Jeff?” he says when he gets the phone to his ear, and his voice breaks when he does.

“Connor, hey,” Jeff says, his voice tinny on the other end of a poor connection inside the airport. Connor starts moving towards the exit without even thinking about his flight. “I’m glad I caught you. Listen...Hank was in a car accident a little bit ago.”

A car accident. Of all the things that could have happened to him at someone’s intentional design, a fucking accident. “Is he okay?”

“He’s beaten up, but he will be,” Jeff says, but there’s a hesitation in his voice, something he isn’t saying.

“Jeff?” Connor presses.

“It’s just...Cole was with him. He’s in surgery right now, but it’s...it’s not good. And they don’t have a human surgeon on staff; it’s an android operating...”

“What hospital?” Connor asks, mouth dry. He’s moving fast now, weaving between the crowds.

Of course Cole was in the car. Hank had Cole all week - Jen is in Florida for a conference, so Hank was watching him.

“Connor,” Jeff says, “you have a flight to catch. Hank didn’t want me to call you...”

That strikes somewhere deep, because Connor has never figured out how to look out for Hank in the same way Hank is so good to him. He knows that, but fuck whatever generosity or affection it is that makes Hank think it would be kinder to send him off on his trip none the wiser than to let Connor be with him right now.

“Jeff.” Connor tucks his head to his shoulder, trapping his phone there as he digs in his pocket for his keys. “What hospital?”

Their connection has solidified enough that Connor can hear Jeff’s sigh on the other end of the line. “We’re at Henry Ford.”

“Okay,” Connor says. “I’ll be there soon.”

When he hangs up and checks his phone, he has another text from Chris and one from Tina.

He opens Chris’ first. “Hey, Con,” the first one says. “Can you call me when you have a chance?” It’s followed by, “Hey, I heard Fowler talking to you. I’m really sorry, I know you and Hank are close.”

Connor doesn’t text back. He figures Jeff has already told them he’s coming.

He taps into his thread with Tina. “Hey, I know you know about the accident,” it says. “Hank is okay, but I know you really care about him, and I know that probably doesn’t help. We’ll look out for him until you get here, okay?”

Tears prick his eyes, and Connor angrily brushes them away with the pad of his thumb as he enters the parking garage. He doesn’t have time to break down right now.

He waits until he’s driving to call Amanda. He puts her on speaker so he can pay attention to the roads - it’s been raining for weeks, and they’re iced over in places.

Amanda has always tracked every plane he’s on in the airline’s phone apps, so she knows he should already be in the air by now when she picks up. “Connor?” she says when she does, sounding worried. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m really sorry,” Connor says, and he is. He wanted to see her. “Hank was in a car accident, and I just...” I can’t leave him, Connor wants to say, but it’s cut off in a dry sob.

There’s silence on the other end of the line, stretching long enough that Connor thinks they’ve lost connection. “Mom?”

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Amanda says. “Is he okay?”

Connor swallows hard. “He’s stable, but his son...I just have to stay here.”

There’s another pause, and Connor feels it. He knows Amanda doesn’t mean to guilt him, but he also knows she was looking forward to him visiting. “I’m really sorry,” he says again.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Amanda says. “You really care about him.”

She says it like it’s a realization for her, and maybe it is. She isn’t here to watch his face when he talks about Hank the way Chris and Tina can, and without her in his life beyond their daily texts and calls, Connor can pick and choose what he tells her.

He keeps it mostly professional, strictly work-related, and now he feels guilty for that, too.

But everything is closing in on him now, and in his desperation and his distress, the words come bubbling out of him before he can stop them. “I love him.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line again, and a moment later, the call drops. They struggle with their reception sometimes, so Connor is reaching out to call back when another incoming call flashes on his screen.

He figures it’s Amanda, but it’s Chris. “Yeah?” Connor says when he accepts the call.

“Hey, Con.” Chris’ voice breaks over the words. He’s crying. “Cole didn’t make it.”

“What?” Connor manages to say. He knew things were serious, but he thought Cole would be alright, really believed it.

Hank deserved for him to be alright.

“Yeah,” Chris says softly. “I just...fuck, wanted to let you know, I guess?”

“Fuck,” Connor breathes. “Is Hank okay?” It’s a stupid question, he knows.

“Just get here as soon as you can, okay? And be careful on the roads.”

Connor has an autonomous vehicle, but he’s driving it manually to override the safety restrictions on his speed. “Okay,” he says.

Connor disconnects the call. He forgets entirely about calling Amanda back until his phone vibrates - a text from her he’ll have to read later.

He doesn’t drive carefully at all.

Tina texts him as he pulls into the parking garage of the hospital. “I'm down in the lobby - I'll walk you up to his room.”

Connor is grateful it's cold as he tucks his face into the raised collar of his coat. It disguises the redness on his face and the tears in his eyes. He wouldn't usually care if anyone here thinks he looks like he's been crying, but he wants to keep himself together for Hank's sake.

Tina is pacing the lobby when Connor steps inside - she looks up when Connor walks through the doors, closing the distance and wrapping her arms around him. "Hey," she says softly.

They don't say anything else.

When Connor was a kid, he went to the hospital with his mother to visit one of her close friends who had been in an accident. Amanda spent the entire drive over telling him what to expect - the ways her friend had been hurt, what she would look like because of it.

He figures Tina had a similar mother, because she spends the walk up to Hank's room doing the same thing.

"A truck skidded on the ice and the collision rolled Hank's car over," she says. "He has a concussion, bad neck strain, a number of lacerations..."

"Does he know?" Connor asks. "About Cole?"

Tina swallows hard and nods. "Yeah. He, um...it was bad. They had to give him a sedative, he kept trying to tear his IVs out and get up..."

The elevator dings, and Connor follows her out. He doesn't know if he's grateful or not that she's protecting him by not telling him the rest of it.

Jeff is waiting in the hallway, on the phone with someone, although he says, "I need to go - I'll call you back," when he sees Tina and Connor. "Hey, Connor," he says weakly when they reach him, offering him a dim smile. "Thanks for coming."

"Yeah," Connor says. He doesn't know what else to say.

"The earliest flight Jen can get home is tomorrow morning - the hurricane is fucking everything up," Fowler says, looking at Tina. "Can you pick her up when she gets in? Hank dropped her off, and someone should be there for her so she doesn’t have to get a cab..."

"Yeah," Tina says. "Of course."

Connor ducks around them, into Hank's room. Chris is sitting beside him, but Connor looks past him, at Hank. He’s propped up in bed, although his eyes are closed where he's laid back against the pillows, his breathing shallow, his face red from crying.

Connor hesitates a moment, not sure if he's asleep or just worn out, although when Chris looks up and says, "Hey, Con," Hank's eyes open.

Connor isn't sure which of them moves first, if Hank reaches for him before Connor starts towards him or not. He just knows that he ends up on the edge of Hank's bed, with Hank's arms tight around his waist and Hank's head tucked into his shoulder and his fingers buried in Hank's hair.

"I'm so sorry," Connor whispers as he holds him. "God, Hank, I'm so fucking sorry."

Hank nods against him, and he feels so small, so sunken into him, like Connor is holding him up.

_ I love you so much, and I would do anything to take this from you, _ Connor wants to say, but Chris is right there, and Fowler is just outside the door.

And of course he can't take this from him anyway. All he can do is hold Hank tighter, so he does.

Connor wants so badly to be what Hank needs right now, so if Hank let go of him, he would slip from the bed and seat himself in the chair beside Chris and be happy enough to do it.

But Hank doesn't. Hank keeps holding him, and so Connor stays where he is, keeps threading his fingers through his hair. Hank lets out a deep, shuddering sigh as he does - Connor can feel the exhaustion in him, and he aches for it.

Jeff steps into the room, and Hank sits up, although he puts a hand on Connor's arm to keep him there when Connor goes to rise from the edge of the bed. "Hey," Jeff says. "I’m going to run back and let Sumo out, and Chris and Tina need to get back to the precinct." He looks at Connor. "Can you stay with him for a bit?"

"I'm okay...they have me so drugged up..." Hank starts to say

"Yes," Connor interrupts him. "I'll stay." _ I'm not going anywhere. _

"Okay," Jeff says. "I'll be back in a bit. Do you want me to grab anything from your place, Hank?"

"No," Hank groans. His voice is hoarse from crying. "I'm fine."

"Okay," Jeff says. "Call if you need anything, okay?"

"Thanks, Jeff," Hank says, lying back against his pillows.

Chris gets up to follow him out, gently clapping Hank on the shoulder as he does. "I'll stop by again when my shift is over, see how you're doing."

Hank nods and tries to smile as he grasps Chris by the arm, but it's weak and empty.

Chris gives him a small smile back anyway. "Take care, man."

Connor and Hank watch them go, and then Hank shifts to look at Connor, laying a hand on his arm. "You're supposed to be in Europe."

"I think I'm supposed to be over the Atlantic right now, actually," Connor says, shrugging weakly.

"I told Jeff not to call you. I didn't want to fuck up your trip."

"Yeah, and fuck you for that," Connor says, managing a small smile. "Of course I want to be here with you."

Hank tries to smile, but tears well in his eyes again. "I keep remembering he's gone," he whispers.

"I know," Connor says. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say."

Hank puts his hand over Connor's, looking for a long moment at their fingers splayed together. "It's okay," he says. "You don't have to say anything. You're here." He groans, raising a hand to press the heel at his temple. "My head is killing me."

Connor shifts off the edge of the mattress and seats himself in the chair at the head of Hank's bed. He hesitates a moment, laying his hand on the sheets between them, but then he reaches out, threading his fingers into Hank's hair and rubbing his scalp the way Amanda used to do for him when he had a headache.

Hank lets out another ragged sigh, eyes falling closed.

"Try to rest, okay?" Connor murmurs.

Hank nods as Connor runs his fingers through his hair, although Connor suspects he's trying to fight the sedative in his system and the exhaustion, to stay up and make himself feel this, as if living through every moment of pain will somehow change anything.

Hank has a bad habit of taking everything on himself. Connor knows that.

"You know it wasn't your fault," Connor says softly. When Hank doesn't say anything, he says, "Hank. Tell me you know that."

"Yeah," Hank says, swallowing hard. "I know. It's just...have to blame someone, you know? And everything else involved tonight was a machine."

"It wasn't your fault," Connor says, because sometimes it helps just to hear it. "I'm not going to let you forget that. It was just a terrible accident."

Hank nods, wincing as he turns his head to look at him. "I'm really glad you're here," he whispers.

_ I'm always going to be here for you _, Connor doesn't say. Instead, he says, "Try to rest, Hank."

Hank falls asleep a few minutes later, with Connor's fingers in his hair.

And when he does, Connor reaches for his hand, feels Hank's skin warm under his, and he lets out the sob he's been holding in.

Connor is sure Hank is asleep, but even then, it’s another hour before he slips his hand from his hair and quietly gets to his feet. The text from Amanda is still waiting on his phone, and he doesn’t want to risk waking Hank up with the light, so he ducks outside before he retrieves it from his pocket and checks it.

“I think we got cut off, sweetie,” the message says. “I know you have a lot going on - can you just text me when you can and let me know you’re okay? I’m so sorry about your friend.”

(Connor’s mind hiccups over ‘friend’, if only because it feels like nowhere near enough to encompass what Hank is to him.)

“Hey, Mom,” he texts back. “I’m okay, I’m at the hospital. Hank’s alright, but his son died in surgery. I’m going to stay with him for the night.”

Amanda’s reply comes a moment later, and Connor feels guilty - it usually takes her a few minutes to respond to him, so he always knows when she’s glued to her phone waiting to hear from him.

“I’m so sorry - I can’t imagine what he’s going through. It’s kind of you to stay with him.”

Connor isn’t trying to be kind, though, or at least, that isn’t the only thing he’s trying to be. Hank has other family, but it occurs to Connor all at once that night that Hank is the closest thing he has to true family in Detroit, even if it isn’t true the other way around.

This isn’t meant to be some kind of favor to Hank. There’s just nowhere else Connor can be and nothing else he can do in light of Hank’s suffering.

“I’ll try to call tomorrow,” he writes back to Amanda. “Have a good day, Mom.”

Connor stays at Hank’s side through the night. Hank wakes up twice, and both times Connor sees it on his face, the moment when he remembers Cole is gone.

“Hey,” Connor says the second time - a glance at the clock reads 5:04 am. Fowler came back a few hours ago, but he’s asleep in the waiting room, so it’s still just the two of them. Connor puts a hand on Hank’s arm, squeezing tightly as Hank looks around trying to orient himself. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

Hank puts his head back on the pillow, looking at Connor with concern. “Have you slept at all?”

“Yeah,” Connor lies. “I just woke up a bit ago.”

Hank sighs, hiking his blankets up higher around his shoulders. “You’re a shit liar, Con.”

Connor smiles. “Go back to sleep.”

Hank closes his eyes, letting out a shuddering breath, like his body wants to cry but his eyes have long since run dry.

Connor slouches back in his chair, trying to get comfortable, although when he glances up, Hank is looking at him again.

“Can you...” Hank starts, although he cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

“No, what?” Connor sits up. “Do you need something?”

Hank shakes his head again, closing his eyes. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

It takes less than a minute for Connor to reason through what Hank might want but be unsure how to ask him for. When he does, he sits forward, slipping a hand back into Hank’s hair.

Hank opens his eyes to look at him, and Connor gives him a small smile when he does.

They don’t say anything. They don’t need to.

Jen gets to the hospital a few hours later. She's a mess, eyes red, dark circles etched underneath them, and she and Hank don't say anything, just cry against each other.

She doesn't stay, and Connor doesn't blame her. She deserves to grieve in peace, however she likes.

Connor is waiting outside Hank's room, wanting to give them some privacy, and Jen almost bumps into him as she's leaving. "Jen," he says, straightening up. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

He and Jen don't know each other well, but she still wraps her arms around him. "I'm really glad Hank has you," she says, and then she pulls away, wiping her eyes and continuing on her way. Tina is waiting for her, and she gives Connor a dim smile before following Jen out.

It's Tuesday morning. Hank is released from the hospital on Friday night. Connor drives him home - he was supposed to be off for the week anyway, so Jeff told him to just look out for Hank as much as he could, and he doesn't need to be told twice.

They're burying Cole tomorrow afternoon, and if Hank doesn't talk much, Connor knows that's why.

When they get to Hank’s house, Connor orders a pizza without asking Hank if that's what he wants, because Hank hasn't had much appetite this week and he knows he'll say he isn't hungry if Connor gives him the option. They sit on the couch, watching the Gears game from earlier that week on demand, Sumo tucked into Hank like the gigantic baby he is.

Connor doesn't know if the dog is trying to comfort Hank or if he just missed him. Maybe a little of both.

They don't talk about it, but Connor stays that night. This time, he's the one who makes breakfast.

Connor doesn't know what to expect from the funeral that afternoon, but maybe he shouldn't be surprised that Hank makes himself into a pillar of strength for Jen's sake, that he stands there stoic as she sobs while they put Cole in the ground.

Connor and Hank drove together - Jeff arranged a rental car for Hank until he can replace his, so they wouldn't have needed to, but they did. Hank holds himself together on the ride home, but they end up sitting in the driveway for a long time afterwards while Hank sobs and Connor holds him through it.

Connor stays through the weekend, but on Monday, he's due back at work. Jeff told Hank to take as much time as he needed, and Connor is grateful for it, even if he misses having Hank at the precinct.

He still goes by Hank's every day for dinner, and sometimes he brings lunch, too. He’s mostly back to sleeping at his apartment, but every now and again, he spends the night. Sometimes Hank asks him to, and sometimes Connor just knows he needs not to be alone.

Jen moves away. She takes a job in California, does a short sale on her house. She doesn't tell Hank she isn't going to stay in Detroit until a few days before she moves entirely.

And Hank takes it hard. Their marriage may not have worked, but they were still friends, and she was still something like family to him.

"This was the whole problem with us, though," Hank tells Connor that night. He's four drinks deep, slurring his speech a bit. "We don't cope with our shit in a compatible way, and I never knew how to be there for her like she needed when shit was hard. We don't mean to be hurtful, but we always are to each other."

Connor thinks about quietly emptying Hank's bottle of whiskey down the drain when Hank goes to bed. He doesn't, at least not right away, not until he finds Hank passed out on his couch a few nights later.

He gets Hank up, holds his hair back while he's sick, lays him on his side in case anything else comes up and watches him all night to make sure he's alright.

"Don't do that to me," Connor says when Hank wakes up in the morning. "I swear to god, Hank, I know how much you're hurting, but this won't help, and if I ever find you like that again..." 

Hank pulls him in, holds him tight, cuts him off so Connor doesn't have to say, "I love you and I can't take it."

"I'm sorry," Hank says. "You won't. I'm sorry I worried you."

Connor wraps his arms around him, presses his forehead into Hank's neck and smells his body wash, citron and sandalwood, fresh from his shower. "Promise me," he whispers.

"Yeah," Hank says. "I won't do it again. I promise, Con."

And he doesn't.

Hank comes back to work the next day, even if he still has a few more weeks of vacation time banked that Jeff would happily let him burn through. He doesn’t tell Connor he’s coming, and he’s in the break room when Connor gets in. Connor knows he’s there, though - he finds his usual breakfast sandwich waiting for him on his desk.

He looks up, finds a coffee sitting on Hank’s, and when he glances around, he sees Hank talking to Chris and Tina across the bullpen.

“Hey,” Connor says, trying to keep his voice neutral when Hank returns to his desk. “You sure you’re okay to be back?”

“Yeah.” Hank is already turning to his terminal and flipping through case files. “I think it might do me some good, being here with you. Keep my mind busy, you know?”

Connor clears his throat. “Yeah. Give me a minute - I’ll brief you on our progress with the drug ring.”

Five minutes later, he’s sitting on Hank’s desk, walking him through everything, and things aren’t normal or mended - they can never be the way they were for Hank again - but fuck if Connor isn’t grateful to have him back anyway.

As Connor tells Hank, they’ve hit a dead end with the drug ring, at least for now. They know they’re being pursued, and so they’ve mostly gone underground. They’ll slip up eventually, but for now, there isn’t much for Hank and Connor to shake loose. They’re mostly back to dealing with more petty drug cases in the meantime.

Connor wonders if a big case to be devoting their attention to would almost be better. Without one, there’s plenty of time for Hank’s mind to wander, even if their work is still probably better for him than sitting alone at home.

Connor wishes he knew how to help.

Sometimes he goes over to Hank’s house after work, but he starts thinking that maybe it would be good for Hank to get out. He thinks about inviting him over to his apartment, maybe inviting Chris and Tina and making some kind of night out of it.

The day Connor broaches it, Hank is struggling more than usual. Connor can usually gauge how he’s doing by how much Hank is talking, because Hank isn’t particularly quiet by nature, and Connor feels it when he has to fill the silence.

Hank looks at Connor for a long time when he asks if he would want to come over, tilts his head like he’s trying to understand something. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he finally says.

Connor blinks, surprised. He doesn’t know what to say. Hank isn’t particularly withholding with his affection - he touches Connor and Chris and Jeff casually all the time, although maybe he touches Connor more. Still, it’s the first time he’s said something like that.

“Can I get back to you on it?” Hank asks before Connor can come up with a proper response, some way to casually but firmly say,_ I don’t deserve you, either. _“Sometimes I feel like getting out, and sometimes I don’t. Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Connor says quickly, looking back at his Chicken Feed burger. “Of course.”

“Okay.” Hank sighs, and then he says, “I was doing better, but Christmas lights just went up downtown. The holidays are going to be tough.”

Connor doesn’t think before he’s saying, “Why don’t we do something for Christmas this year?”

“Us?”

“Yeah,” Connor says, shrugging. “Mom and I can’t make travel work this year with our schedules, and you’re...I don’t know. You’re family.”

Hank smiles at that, looks genuinely touched. “Okay,” he says softly. “I’d like that.”

Connor has to bite the inside of his cheek so his smile doesn’t look too smitten. He knows how enamored he appears when he looks at Hank - he can feel it on his face. All he can do is try to school his features as best he can, knowing he’ll never hide it entirely.

They take a long lunch - their caseload is slow, and Jeff is cutting Hank plenty of slack these days. When they do finally get back into the car, Hank sits there, grasping the steering wheel with white knuckles and staring ahead for a moment, like he’s trying to collect himself or talk himself up to something.

“Hey,” Connor says, reaching for his hand. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah...” Hank says, but it sounds distant, and he’s staring at Connor’s hand on his.

“Do you...want me to drive?” Connor offers.

“I was going to ask you out.”

In the moment of empty silence, Connor can hear his heart pounding in his ears. “What?” he asks lamely.

“New Year’s Eve,” Hank says. “Remember? I know I never finished saying it, but I was tipsy enough that I was going to ask you out. But then Tina and Chris showed up.”

“Yeah,” Connor says. His throat feels dry. “I remember.”

Hank doesn’t look at him. “I don’t want to fuck up your career.”

Connor manages a weak smile. “I don’t want to fuck up yours.”

Hank is quiet for a moment, and then he laughs softly.

“What?” Connor asks.

“I was just thinking...maybe we cancel each other out.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Connor starts to say, but Hank winds their fingers together and kisses him before he can finish the thought.

And Connor knows they shouldn't be doing this - it's not allowed, they'll both lose their jobs - but fuck if that stops him from getting his arms around Hank and trying to haul him closer, from kissing him back greedily and hungrily.

Hank might have started this, but Connor has wanted to kiss him for two long years. He's the one who deepens it immediately, who takes it from something sweet to something desperate in an instant.

And Hank goes with him easily. His fingers tangle in Connor's hair, and Hank has touched his hair before, but not like this. It's never been this raw or had such an ache behind it, and it's never felt like Hank doesn't know how to let him go.

"Connor," Hank says against his mouth. "Fuck, Con, tell me this is okay."

"It's okay, it's okay." The words come out in a rushed whisper as Connor tries to get closer to Hank, groaning in frustration at the console between them and wishing desperately that they had taken his autonomous vehicle out instead just because it has more room in the back.

Connor tries to move around it a moment longer, but then he swears in frustration and gracelessly throws himself over it into the backseat.

"Come on," he says, ignoring the way Hank is stifling a laugh at him. 

Hank gets out of the car and walks around to the back, which is probably what Connor should have done, too. But he knows Hank too well and he wants him too much to be embarrassed by his enthusiasm, so the moment Hank slides into the backseat, Connor climbs into his lap, pressing himself into the barrel of Hank's chest and sighing contently when Hank's arms wrap tight around him.

"I haven't made out with someone in the back of my car since I was a teenager," Hank says, and Connor reaches for him, threads his fingers through his hair and pushes it out of his face so he can see his eyes clearly, warm and blue.

"I never have," he admits softly.

He was pretty straight-laced growing up - Amanda wasn't _ strict _ , necessarily, but she _ was _ a good mother, so he had a curfew and had to tell her where he was going and who with and when he would be home. Connor never liked lying to her - and he also wasn't much good at it - so that didn't leave much room for him to sneak off and hook up with boys in empty parking lots like some of his classmates did.

Connor never thought he was missing out on much, either, and he probably wasn't at the time.

This, though. He wants to stay trapped in this moment as long as he can. The car is pleasantly warm from idling with the heat on, and everything about Hank feels good - the scratch of his beard and the taste of his mouth and the way he keeps pulling at Connor's waist like he's somehow going to get him closer, even if they’re already flush against each other.

"We should stop," Connor says, because he loves this too much, he'll get addicted to it if Hank lets him, but unless they want to lose their jobs with the unemployment rate at a record high, this has to just be a mistake.

It can't be a habit.

"I know," Hank says.

But they don't stop, and maybe they never would have, except that Hank's phone rings a few minutes later. He fishes for it, glances at the display while Connor kisses his neck.

"It's Jeff," Hank says, which sends Connor to the other end of the seat in an instant. Hank gives him an incredulous, amused look. "Jesus. He can't see us, you know.."

"Just answer it," Connor says, reaching up to straighten his hair. This is why he could never lie to Amanda - he gets so fucked up worrying about disappointing people that his guilt gives him away.

Hank accepts the call and glances at Connor as he raises the phone to his ear. "Hey, Jeff...no, you just caught us...sure, we can do that."

Connor gives him an expectant look when Hank hangs up and slips his phone back into his pocket.

"Wants us to bring him a burger," Hank says. "I'll run back up."

Connor is back in the front seat by the time Hank returns. Hank passes him the takeout bag to hold and puts the car in gear.

"We should probably talk about this," Hank says after a minute.

They probably should, if only talking about it wasn’t going to just lead them deeper into something Connor already doesn’t know if they can escape.

"Your place or mine?" he asks, but he's still caught up in everything, and his voice is too weak because of it for the joke to land.

Hank snorts at it anyway. "I need to let Sumo out, so mine, if that's okay. I'll buy dinner."

They shouldn't go to Hank's house. They shouldn't have dinner. Connor isn't even sure they should talk about this at all. It can't go anywhere or become anything, not unless one of them finds another job, and that's a tall order in this economy. It needs to just be swept under the rug.

He knows that. He does.

But none of that stops him from looking over at Hank and smiling and saying, "Okay."

* * *

The rest of the work day couldn't possibly pass any slower.

Connor even _ likes _ work. He's usually not one to sit around feeling sorry for himself that he's at his desk instead of anywhere else. But this is torture.

It doesn't help that he keeps looking up to find Hank glancing away like he was just watching him, or that the heat of his gaze lingers after its gone.

In the end, Connor can't take the wait. He retrieves his phone from his pocket and opens his message thread with Hank. The last text there is a picture of Sumo Connor took the night he slept over at Hank's house when he found him drunk, one he sent to him while Hank was passed out for him to wake up to.

Connor is dimly aware of Hank's gaze flicking over to him again, but he doesn't look up. He can't until he says this.

"I really care about you, and you're going through so much, and I don't want to be something else for you to regret or lose," he writes. He sends it before he loses his nerve.

He hears Hank's phone vibrate across from him, although he keeps his eyes firmly fixed on his terminal while Hank checks it.

His own phone goes off a moment later, and it's all he can do not to grab for it too quickly.

"I care about you, too," it says, "and I trust you."

Connor stares at the words until they blur, and then he gets up, casts a glance at Hank before he walks across the bullpen to the bathroom. He runs the cold water at the sink when he gets there, splashing it over his face.

A minute later, Hank slips through the door behind him. "You okay?" he asks, leaning against the wall. He locked the door behind himself, but he's keeping his distance, even though Connor knows he wants to cross the space between them, because they're at work, and Hank is smart and careful.

That's the whole problem. They'll always have to be smart and careful.

Connor sighs, turning and gripping the sink until his knuckles go white. "Yeah," he says in a whisper, even though he's certain nobody passing by outside can hear even if they speak normally. "I just...we'll always have to hide this. And I'm afraid that will hurt you more, in the end. You want me now, but..."

Hank sighs loudly enough to cut him off, like he does when he thinks Connor is being difficult. "What?" Connor asks pointedly, a bite in his soft voice.

"I've wanted you for years," Hank says, as if Connor was profoundly dim. "Not just now."

It takes significant willpower on Connor's part not to go bury himself in Hank's arms, but he manages it. "Yeah, well," he says, "there's a reason you didn't do anything about it years ago."

Hank shrugs. "Sure. I didn't have a near-death experience telling me maybe I should get a move on because life's real fucking short then. This isn't grief, Con. Or, at least, it's not just that."

Connor doesn't want to start crying in the DPD bathroom because of how much he loves Hank, in this moment and all the others, but honestly, he might.

"We'll have to keep it secret," he says weakly.

Hank looks entirely nonplussed, unflappable in the same way he always is. "I only have three years of service left until a full pension."

Three years. That's nothing. They've already spent two orbiting each other.

Connor can do three keeping quiet.

He ignores the oddity of this, how they're talking about their long-term futures and about Hank's retirement after one backseat makeout, and how desperate they both are for each other that they said they would talk after work but neither of them could wait.

"Can you do three years of secrecy?" he asks Hank, who smiles.

"Yeah, I can."

"So can I."

Connor crosses the room to him, unlocks the door and slips out, but not before he grasps Hank's hand and presses a kiss to his cheek.

They need to be smarter than that in the future, smart enough not to touch each other too companionably at work, not to be caught having private conversations squirreled away from the rest of the DPD too many times.

But they're new at this, Connor figures as he returns to his desk. They can afford this one mistake.

"Burgers okay for dinner?" Hank texts him from the bathroom.

"I'm begging you for anything but burgers," Connor writes back.

Hank sends him a crying emoji back, and Connor loves him so much it hurts.

It's an odd start to a relationship, all things considered.

But it's theirs.

They leave work together that evening, which may look odd, except that they usually do, especially since the accident. “I’ll meet you at your place?” Connor asks as they walk out, trying to mask some of the anticipation in his voice in case anyone overhears them.

“Yeah,” Hank says, tucking his face into his collar against the cold. “See you there.”

Connor didn’t know there was such a thing as being too happy to drive, but there is. He sets his vehicle to autonomous even if he usually likes manual, and he sits in the driver’s seat with his stomach flipping dangerously the entire way.

He texts his neighbor to ask if she can put food down for his cat - it’s presumptuous, maybe, but he assumes he won’t be going home tonight - and then he watches the roads pass by, heart fluttering nervously in his chest.

Connor beats Hank back, and he sits in his car staring at his door for a moment wondering whether it’s okay for him to let himself in.

He does, in the end. Sumo comes ambling over to greet him, and Connor lets him out while they wait.

When Hank gets home, he has a bag of food in his hand. “Hey,” he says, holding the bag up. “I picked up curbside from that sandwich place you like.”

Connor is hungry, and the food smells good, but he didn’t get nearly enough of Hank in the car earlier. He meets him at the door, fists his hands in his hair and kisses him until Hank puts the sandwiches in the fridge and walks him back to the bedroom.

It’s almost absurd that Connor has been thinking about this since Hank interviewed him years ago, and a laugh bubbles out of him before he can help it.

“What?” Hank asks against Connor’s neck. Connor can feel his mouth turn up into a smile against his skin.

“No, it’s just...don’t laugh, but I thought you were so fucking hot when you interviewed me.”

Hank does laugh, despite Connor’s instructions, a noise that sounds punched out of him

“I’m serious,” Connor says sternly

“I know you are. It's cute.”

Connor draws back and looks at him. The shadow on Hank‘s face, ever-present since the accident, is still there, even if it’s faded. It’s in the way he carries himself, too. And Connor can’t properly explain how he knows he can’t take that from him, not by being here and not by touching him, not matter how much he tries to mold him back together or take on some of his burden, but fuck, he wants to try.

It’s all he’s wanted these last two months.

Connor has spent so much time thinking about Hank fucking him, about Hank’s mouth on him and Hank’s fingers working him open, about Hank’s weight pressing into him and Hank’s arms around him holding him tight to his chest from behind, and it’s true he wants that, so badly.

There’s time, though. He wants something else more.

Connor sinks onto the bed, pulling Hank along with him. “Lie back,” he says against Hank’s mouth.

“For what?”

Connor takes Hank’s hand, kisses the pad of his finger. “Because I want to take care of you.”

Connor knows that working with someone, spending endless hours with someone, even loving someone isn't always the same thing as knowing them, but he still likes to think he knows Hank, that he understands the things that make him up and hold him together.

And so he knows that Hank's greatest strength and his fatal flaw are one in the same, that Hank will give of himself endlessly for someone else without asking anything for himself. Connor has seen it so many times over the years, in the ways Hank took care of Cole, in the ways he tried to take care of Jen, in every single moment - and there have been many - when he's put Connor before himself.

And Connor knows tonight could go that way, too, that Hank would be good to him, that he wants to be, but he also knows Hank is tired, tired from feeling so much, even if he needs some encouragement to just rest.

"Hey," Connor says when Hank doesn't move to lie down right away, putting his hands on his face and kissing him sweetly. "I've got you, and you can return the favor tomorrow. Just...let me?"

Hank hesitates another moment, and Connor isn't surprised, because here's the other thing he knows about Hank - he's a natural caretaker because he wants to be, because he loves the people who matter to him so much, but also because it's easier for him to direct that energy outwards than accept it for himself.

He doesn't think he deserves it, maybe, or he just doesn't always know how to stop holding himself upright for the people around him long enough to let someone take care of him.

But Connor wants that vulnerability from him, if Hank is willing to give it to him. They can do something else if he isn't, have a first time that's more in line with what Connor has always fantasized about, but he hopes Hank will give in.

It takes another moment of Connor looking back at him, but when he gives Hank a gentle shove in the shoulder, Hank goes willingly, lying back on the pillows and looking at Connor with a small smile on his face. Hank reaches for him, and Connor moves, crawling over to him and kissing him.

"Take this off," Connor says softly, pulling at Hank's shirt, "and turn over."

Hank does, pulling his shirt over his head and twisting onto his stomach, making a soft noise of surprise when Connor climbs over him and straddles his hips.

Connor bends into him immediately, brushing Hank's hair out of his face and kissing his temple. "I've got you," he says again, lips moving against the heat of Hank's skin.

Hank twists enough to catch Connor's mouth in a kiss, although Connor pulls back when Hank lifts an arm to wind his fingers in Connor's hair.

He wants to focus, at least for a few minutes.

It's been a while since Connor did this for anyone, but Hank is carrying enough tension that Connor suspects any pressure against his tired muscles would feel good. He presses the pads of his fingers into Hank's shoulders, rubbing gently before he increases the pressure.

Hank, for his part, keeps relatively quiet, although Connor can feel his breathing getting heavier underneath him, relishes the way he can feel Hank's body moving with his.

"Fuck, Con," he finally groans when Connor digs in a bit deeper. It's a good noise, one Connor wants to bottle and keep.

And for all his determination that he's going to be disciplined and focused with Hank, Connor can't help the way he reacts to the words - he drops his chest to Hank's back, pressing a kiss into his cheek and then his neck, breathing him in.

"Good?" he asks against him.

"Yeah," Hank says, voice rough and soft against the pillow. "It's good, baby."

Connor smiles and gently nips the lobe of Hank's ear just to make him groan again. "Good," he whispers.

Hank relaxing under him while Connor slowly works the tension from his muscles is its own sort of reward, one that's born of a trust Connor knows Hank wouldn't give to anyone else, a trust he isn't at all inclined to take advantage of.

There's an old bullet scar on the back of Hank's shoulder that Connor keeps looking at, and when he has Hank pliant and loose under him, he kisses the raised, pink skin with a finality before he rolls to Hank's side. He gets an arm around Hank's shoulders, uses it to twist him around so Hank’s back is pressed to Connor's chest.

Connor buries his face in the crook of Hank's neck, kissing him there and reaching for Hank's belt. "Help me get these off?" he asks, tracing his thumb under the waistband of Hank's jeans.

Connor isn't sure if he should expect Hank to hesitate, if he might be willing to take the back rub but not the rest of it, but there's no reluctance in him when he moves to do as Connor asks.

That's the thing about Hank - he's never worried about pretenses, not with anyone, and certainly not with Connor. Connor kisses under his ear and keeps an arm tight around Hank's chest while he works his pants off.

Hank glances over his shoulder at him. "You want the boxers off too, or are you going to edge me a bit longer?"

Connor hums against him. Hank's skin is cool where he tucks his forehead to his shoulder, trying to collect himself. "Don't tempt me," he says, but his voice comes out weak and ragged enough that the threat is clearly empty.

Hank reaches around them to get a hand on Connor's ass and squeeze.

"Lube's in the drawer," he says, and thank fuck, because Connor was so distracted by the promise of getting Hank in bed that he didn't even think to ask if he had any.

Connor sits up, working the buttons of his shirt undone quickly enough that he's surprised he doesn't tear any of them loose. It's the quickest he's ever undressed, leaving his clothes in a messy pile on the floor and grabbing the little bottle from Hank's drawer to slick his fingers.

Of all the ways today could have ended unexpectedly, this - finding himself with his chest pressed to Hank's back, heart running rabbit quick against the cage of his ribs, one hand wrapped around the velvet heat of Hank's cock and the other with two fingers pressed inside him - this, Connor decides is his favorite.

"Connor," Hank says, hips bucking the smallest bit into Connor's hand. His voice is strained and rough and beautiful.

"Yeah," Connor whispers. "I've got you."

He withdraws his hand from Hank's hole, admires the way Hank almost inadvertently grinds back against him, like he's sorry for the absence. Connor's other hand is still wrapped tight around Hank's cock, but he raises his arm where it rests under Hank's neck, uses it to tilt Hank's head around so he can kiss him, feel the glide of Hank's tongue over his own.

"I love you," Connor whispers against him, and then he sinks into him.

Connor isn't prepared for most things that come with fucking into Hank from behind. How good the tight heat feels, how certain he is that he's going to go off like a shot, how he can feel Hank's heart hammering under his hand where his arm is wrapped around his chest, none of it.

But mostly he isn't prepared for the way Hank reaches around him, the way way he buries his fingers in Connor's hair and twists just enough that he can kiss him through it. He isn't prepared for the things Hank whispers against his lips, "Fuck," and, "You're so good, baby," and, "I love you, too, you have to know that," things that make tears spring in Connor's eyes as he presses his forehead to Hank's temple and strokes firmly over Hank's cock and feels him spill in his hand.

He's so fucking done for, Connor thinks.

He doesn't know how he's spent two years at Hank's side without truly having him, but he doesn't intend to ever lose him now that he does.

He buries his forehead in Hank's neck and groans as he comes inside him, fucking into him a few more times before he goes still.

They're a mess. Connor's hair is clinging to the sweat on his forehead, and Hank's skin is damp under his fingers, and they really need a shower, but even if that's a nice promise, Connor is tired enough and content enough to let that be a problem for later.

Hank twists around and pulls Connor into his arms, and Connor folds against him when Hank cups a hand on the back of his neck and kisses his forehead.

Connor hums against him, slinging an arm around Hank and tucking himself into him. He thinks, ever so briefly, about getting up and retrieving their sandwiches from the fridge. But he's content and pliant and feels like he's floating above himself, and he ends up drifting off instead.

* * *

Connor doesn’t know how long he sleeps - it feels like minutes or hours, and he’s too blissed out to determine the difference. He wakes up to Hank’s weight shifting beside him, to the groan of protest that leaves his mouth before he’s even properly conscious.

He hears Hank’s soft huff of a laugh, feels the mattress sink beside him as Hank leans over him and kisses his forehead. Connor shifts lazily, rolling onto his back and blinking blearily as Hank roots around in his closet for fresh clothes to wear.

Connor watches him get dressed, slipping one of his legs out from under the sheets as he does. It’s a cool night outside, but it’s warm in the room, even if his sweat is cooling on his skin.

“Here,” Hank says, tossing a folded pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt to Connor.

Connor rubs the heel of his hand into his eye, giving Hank a sleepy smile. “Am I spending the night?”

Hank returns to his side, looking at Connor for a long moment with a soft heat and sharp fondness in his eye. Connor stretches, preening a little, and Hank puts a hand on his bare chest and leans over to kiss him.

“I’d like you to,” he says.

Connor tangles a hand in his hair and kisses him back, squirming when Hank squeezes his hip. “Then I will.”

“Good,” Hank says. “Come on. I’m hungry.”

Hank slips out of the room, and Connor listens to the sink running in the bathroom while he pulls Hank’s clothes on. He thinks about the shirt he never gave Hank in his closet, the one he’s slept in most nights for months, and how this one is so much better, because it smells like Hank without him doing any imagining.

If he’s smiling stupidly when he emerges from the bedroom and goes to join Hank on the couch, when Hank grasps him by the back of the neck and pulls him in to kiss his hair, he can’t help it.

“We have to be beyond reproach at work,” Hank says while they eat. “No touching, and we can’t mention that either of us is dating someone to anyone there. No one will ask questions if we don’t give them a reason to think there are questions to ask.”

Connor is sorry to keep anything from Chris or Tina - his only real friends in Detroit aside from Hank - but he already knew this was what it was going to take. And it’s only three years. “Okay,” he says. “Does Jeff ever come by here or anything?”

“Not really. He did a few times after the accident to check in, but he always calls before he does, and he hasn’t been by in a week or two now that I seem...you know. Better.”

It’s a stark reminder that Hank only seems better, that he isn’t really, not yet. He’s just getting better at making room for the same grief.

Connor sets his sandwich aside and shifts closer to Hank, resting his chin on his shoulder. “I love you,” he whispers, and Hank turns into him and kisses him.

They watch a show. They go to bed early. They realize that they both sleep on the same side of the bed, and they both offer to switch, although Hank wins out in the end.

They fall asleep intertwined with each other, their fingers wound together.

It’s a good night. A good start.

* * *

It's a less good morning, at least at first, mostly because Hank has thought things through far more carefully than Connor has, realized that Connor needs time to go home and get dressed in fresh clothes before he goes to the DPD.

...which means it's 5 am when Hank gently shakes him awake.

"What?" Connor groans, the word stretched out and tinged with a whine, his voice muffled by his pillow.

Hank has the audacity to slip a finger under the loose neckline of Connor's t-shirt, pulling it aside and kissing the curve of his shoulder like he's being adorable when Connor knows for a fact he's insufferable first thing in the morning.

"Come on, baby," Hank says. "You need to go back to your place before work."

Connor peeks an eye open. It's still dark out. "God, what time is it?" he whines.

"Five."

"In the _ morning _?"

Hank snorts at that, tucking a piece of Connor's hair back from his forehead. "Yeah, sweetheart. In the morning. You sleep like the dead, you know that? You barely move."

"Like a log, I know. I've been told." Connor twists onto his back, tucking himself deeper under the covers. "How much time do you think it takes me to get ready, exactly? I don't get in until 8:30 usually."

"I know," Hank says. "But I thought we could make time for something else."

Connor is using every part of his still-foggy brain to marvel that Hank is a morning person - he knew he was, but there's a difference between being a morning person at 8 am and being a morning person before the crack of dawn, in his opinion - and so he misses the hint entirely.

He misses it right up until Hank slips a hand under the hem of his shirt, skirting his fingers over the plane of Connor's stomach and just underneath the waistband of his borrowed sweatpants.

And suddenly, Connor is much more awake.

"No?" Hank asks, tracing the line of Connor's hip as he goes to withdraw his hand.

Connor catches him by the wrist before he can. "Yes," he whispers.

He's still foggy enough that he moves easy and pliant when Hank rearranges him onto his stomach, propping a pillow underneath his hips that Connor reflexively rocks into, seeking friction against his straining cock.

Hank puts a hand on Connor's lower back, presses down just enough to still him. He leans over Connor, his whole weight surrounding him, whispers, "Be good, baby," into his ear, and Connor thinks it's a miracle he doesn't come then and there on the words alone.

He nods, quick and desperate, and he would let out a bitten off moan if Hank didn't kiss it from his mouth.

Maybe Connor's too sleepy still to figure out where this is going. Hank works Connor's sweatpants over his hips, and Connor expects that, but he also expects to feel Hank moving beside him, to hear the drawer of the bedside table pulled open as he reaches for the lube.

That's not what happens, though.

At first, Hank doesn't move at all, not until Connor peeks at him over his shoulder. And then, it's to put a hand on his ass, to thumb him apart and just look at him.

"You're so fucking pretty, sweetheart," Hank whispers.

And call him vain, but Connor has always liked being looked at, has always found that it makes heat pool in his gut, and he finds now that the effect is particularly strong when it's Hank appreciating him.

He drops his forehead to his arms where they're braced in front of him, and he bites his lower lip to stifle the whine that rises out of him.

"Hank," he whispers into the dark room, and Hank is over him again, pressing a kiss into his temple that Connor cranes up into.

"Relax," Hank says. "I'll take care of you."

And Connor still isn't quite getting what that means, still thinks he's going to hear the drawer and feel Hank's slick fingers at his entrance, a welcome intrusion.

Instead, Hank leans over him, rucking Connor's shirt up and exposing what he can of his back, kissing down every notch of his spine. He puts a hand on the inside of one of Connor's thighs, nudging his legs further apart so he can kneel there.

Connor feels the mattress shifting as Hank moves, but it still doesn't click for him, not until he feels the light scrape of Hank's beard high against his inner thigh, the graze of teeth along sensitive skin, the feeling of Hank's fingers spreading him open.

"Oh, fuck," Connor whispers in the moment before Hank licks a filthy stripe over him, pulling back just long enough to spread him apart further and lick into him.

Connor shouldn't be surprised. He knows Hank doesn't leave favors unreturned, and that he wants to be good to him.

He should have expected something like this, if not _ this _ exactly, but he's too strung out, too caught between half-asleep and so fucking hard he thinks he could bring himself off in seconds if he could only reach a hand underneath himself, to consider his mistake.

Connor tries to rock down against the pillow again, desperately seeking any friction, pressure, _ anything, _but Hank reaches up and lays a heavy forearm across his lower back, gently but firmly pinning him down so there's nothing Connor can do but lie there, half-sobbing, as Hank takes his time.

And it's been a long time since someone did this for Connor, long enough that he's forgotten the sweetness and the vulnerability in having someone so close. If he wasn't so desperate, eyes squeezed shut hard enough that tears leak out, he would want to bask in the feel of Hank's mouth on him, unhurried.

That isn't the case, though. Connor rocks back against Hank's tongue with the little leverage he can manage in his position, pressing his forehead to his arms and whimpering because it's so good and it's too much but it also isn't enough.

Hank knows that, when Connor is pulled too thin and can't take it anymore, and he pulls away with a little nip at the height of Connor’s thigh and a subsequent kiss to soothe. He leaves his hand on Connor's hip and shifts a bit. "Can you pass me the lube, sweetheart?"

It takes a conscious effort on his part to make himself move - Connor's whole body feels like it's floating, not quite attached to itself - but he still manages to pick himself up and pull the drawer open, handing the bottle back to Hank. He listens to Hank opening it, slicking his fingers, through ears humming with pleasure until he feels Hank prodding into him.

And Connor usually likes being fingered, usually thinks it's its own sort of pleasure that he's happy enough to ride out for a while, but he's impatient, and he's hard and flushed where his cock is caught between his belly and the pillow underneath him.

"Hank," he groans when Hank presses a second finger into him, grinding down a bit on a spot that makes Connor's hips jerk forward.

Hank leans over him, fingers still inside him, nosing into his hair. "What, baby?" he asks, and fuck, he's _ teasing _ him.

"I swear to god," Connor whispers into his arms. He isn't even sure Hank can hear him. "If you don't fuck me..."

Hank's fingers still inside him, like he's considering something. "Are you good like this?"

It takes Connor too long to realize that Hank is asking if he's good on his belly, hips propped up by the pillow, but when he does, he shakes his head. "I want to see you."

Hank kisses his temple, and then he helps him turn over onto his back. He reaches for the bottle between them, and Connor watches through hooded eyes as he slicks his cock.

Hank moves over him, lowers himself down, his belly pressed to Connor's, his arms caging him in. Connor lifts his head enough that he can kiss him, warm and sweet, as Hank sinks into him. There's a pinch with the stretch, but it's okay, it's good, and Connor wraps his arms around Hank's shoulders and lifts his legs, hooking them over Hank's waist.

They're as close as they can get and Connor still wants to get him closer. He doesn't know how this is still somehow better than he imagined it, especially when he's thought about this and built it up for two years, but it is.

He likes that Hank talks through it. He didn't imagine he would, thought he would be the silent sort, but Hank tells him he's good, tells him he's gorgeous, tells him he loves him, secrets whispered against Connor's lips, passed between them in the dark. Connor thinks, very genuinely, that he could get off on the sound of his voice alone.

Connor is strung so tight that it doesn't take more than three strokes to make him come over his belly when Hank finally reaches between them and wraps his fingers around Connor's cock. Connor gently bites into the skin of Hank's shoulder when he does, rolling his hips back into him, and that’s the thing that sends Hank over the edge.

They don't move, or at least, they don't move much. Hank slowly lowers himself down, resting his full weight against Connor, and Connor twines his fingers through Hank's hair, turns to press a kiss to Hank's forehead where he's rested his cheek on Connor's shoulder.

"We need a shower," Connor says softly.

"Yeah," Hank says, but his voice sounds sleep-thick, and he doesn't make any effort to move.

Connor glances at the clock. They have time.

The sun rises on them like that, still intertwined with each other, Hank asleep against him, and Connor floating someplace warm and fuzzy between sleep and consciousness, fingers idly running through Hank's hair.

He could get used to this, Connor thinks.

(Maybe he already is.)

Hank’s alarm goes off a half hour later, loudly enough that Connor startles a bit and wakes Hank up where he’s lying against him. It’s only when he hears it that Connor realizes it never went off before, that Hank just woke up on his own.

Connor asked Amanda once how she woke up without an alarm every morning, back when he was a kid. She told him it was because she missed him too much when she was asleep, and Connor wonders if Hank just missed him too much, too.

He doesn’t know, but he kisses Hank’s cheek fondly all the same.

They shower together - a tricky thing, because it _ seems _ like it should be faster to go together than separately, but of course they just keep getting distracted by each other. Connor is distracted by the tattoo on Hank’s chest that he didn’t properly look at before, and Hank is distracted by the freckles strewn over Connor’s body, and by the time they’re done, the water is running cold.

Connor puts the clothes Hank lent him back on to go back to his apartment, and once he’s gathered the rest of his things, he kisses Hank in the living room.

“It’s your turn to buy breakfast,” Hank says, clapping Connor on the hip and turning him towards the door. “Don’t be late.”

Connor tries to scowl at him. It’s too marred by his smile to have any heat in it.

He feeds his cat and changes quickly when he gets home, and he thinks to pack an overnight bag while he’s at his apartment to keep in his car, just in case.

He calls Amanda on the drive in to work. They’ve texted, but it’s been a while since he’s talked to her.

He still hasn’t decided if he should tell her about Hank or not, even as the phone rings. He wants to be honest, and he wants to tell her about the important things in his life, but he knows she’ll see the way this jeopardizes his career, and he knows she’ll worry.

He doesn’t have an answer by the time she picks up, either. “Connor,” Amanda says when she answers. “How are you, sweetie?”

“Hey, Mom. I’m okay. How are things going?”

“Well enough,” Amanda says. “How’s Hank doing? I’ve been thinking about him.”

“He’s okay,” Connor says. He chews his lip, decides in the end that Amanda would rather worry than have Connor keep something like this from her entirely. “Listen. Can I tell you something?”

“Sure, sweetie. What’s up?”

“Um,” Connor says. “Look, I don’t want you to worry, and I tried to tell you before and we got cut off, but Hank and I...we’re kind of...dating? Together? We’re being careful, I promise.”

Amanda is quiet for a long moment on the other end of the line, and then she says, “You love him?”

“So much,” Connor says.

“Is he good to you?”

“Yeah.” It’s an easy answer. “He is.”

“Good,” Amanda says, and then, “I’d like to meet him.” It sounds wistful, far off. Connor wonders if she’s still at the office, if she’s distracted by her work.

“Next time you’re in town,” Connor says. “I promise.”

“Connor,” Amanda says, and Connor expected her to worry, but the way her voice breaks around his name surprises him. “I need to tell you something too, honey. I...”

Her voice crackles, and then there’s static on the other end before the call goes dead.

“Shit,” Connor mutters. He pulls his phone away from his ear to check the call, but they’re disconnected entirely.

He sets his car to autonomous and pulls up his message thread with Amanda. “Hey, Mom. Sorry we keep getting cut off lately. You were starting to say something - text me if you want, or I can call you later.”

He doesn’t think much of it. Amanda seemed upset, but that’s about the reaction he expected to telling her about Hank. Their phone call is out of his mind entirely by the time he walks into the DPD with breakfast, Hank’s coffee in one hand and his iced tea in the other.

“Morning, Con,” Hank says when Connor puts Hank’s breakfast on his desk, the way he always does.

“Morning,” Connor says. The only thing out of the ordinary between them is the way Connor has to keep a hand at his mouth to hide his smile while he stares at his monitor.

He checks his phone at lunch, and then again after work. Amanda hasn’t texted him back, so he tries to call her at his apartment while he waits for Hank to come over, but she doesn’t answer.

And even that isn’t abnormal. Sometimes they go days without talking to each other on the phone, although they usually text. Still, she’s been working on a new project, and Connor knows she’s been busy.

He sits on the couch nestled under Hank’s arm, and he doesn’t worry about it.

He starts to feel uneasy when there’s still no word from her the next morning, a faint tinge in his gut that something is wrong. It gets worse as the days pass.

By the third day without hearing from her, Connor knows something is wrong.

Hank pulls him aside that day, into an empty interrogation room. “You okay?” he asks.

Connor has mentioned that he hasn’t heard from Amanda, but he’s played it off like he isn’t worried...the way he always does when he’s very worried. He suspects Hank knows that about him, but he hasn’t pushed the matter.

“Yeah,” Connor says, rubbing his temples. “I just...I’m getting worried about my mom. This isn’t like her.”

“Do you need to go home? I can cover if...”

“No,” Connor says quickly. “It’s okay.”

They go back to their desks, and Connor’s phone vibrates a moment later.

It’s a text from Hank, not Amanda, but that’s still its own relief. “I’ll help you call around to her apartment complex and her university tonight if you want, see if we can at least make sure she’s okay.”

“Okay,” Connor writes back, feeling impossibly grateful. “Thank you.”

His phone vibrates again a moment later. “Love you, baby,” Hank’s text says. “I’m sure she’s okay.”

“I love you, too,” Connor writes back.

He doesn’t say that he isn’t sure Amanda is okay at all.

Connor usually doesn't mind a day that's mostly desk work, but it gives his mind plenty of time to wander, and he spends the rest of the day miserable and fretting, no matter how much he tries to occupy his time and focus on his work.

Hank texts him again a little after four. "You look like you’re dying. You want to get out of here?"

Connor usually stays at the station until six or seven even when things are slow, and much later when things aren't, but he barely thinks about it before he writes back, "Please."

"Your place or mine?"

Connor is growing too fond of Hank's place too quickly, probably, and so it's good that Hank doesn't seem to care if he's clingy. Hank's house is comforting, and it feels like home in a way his apartment never has.

"Is yours okay?" he asks.

Hank looks up across their desks and gives Connor a small smile, and that's answer enough.

Connor goes home to change first, gets his personal laptop and grabs the hard copy of Amanda's address in London from his refrigerator.

Hank has dinner waiting for him when Connor gets to his house and lets himself in. "Thank you," Connor says, because he keeps forgetting about dinner entirely in the midst of his worry. He sets his overnight bag and his laptop down by the door and goes to tuck himself into Hank's arms. "You don't have to keep buying me dinner, you know."

"Yeah, I do," Hank says. "You want to call around first?"

Connor nods. "You can eat a while, if you want."

Hank doesn't, though. He joins Connor on the couch while he searches for the office number for Amanda's apartment complex, watches him while Connor dials.

"Hi," Connor says when the manager answers. "My name's Connor Stern - my mother, Amanda, lives in your building. I haven't heard from her in a few days and I'm trying to make sure she's okay. Have you seen her recently?"

"Uh," the manager says. "Hold on a minute, okay? Let me check our records." Connor sits there chewing his lip until the man comes back on the line. "Yeah, we don't have anyone here by that name."

Connor's brows pinch tighter together. "You mean she isn't home right now?"

"No, I mean we don't have anyone on our leases by that name. Are you sure you have the right number?"

"That's...not possible. I just visited her last year..."

"Sorry," the manager says. "I wish I could help. You must have the wrong building."

"Can you...can you check one more time for me? I’m sure this is the right place."

"...Yeah. Hold on."

Connor waits, aware of Hank watching him in the moment before the man picks up the phone again. "Sorry," he says. "I'm certain there's no one on our leases with that name. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"No," Connor says. "I guess not.”

Hank is watching him carefully when Connor looks up at him. "He says she doesn't live there," Connor explains, voice wavering. He’s unsettled - something is odd about all of this.

"Is it possible she moved?" Hank asks.

"Not without telling me."

"Hey," Hank says, putting a hand on his arm. "It's okay. We'll find her."

Connor calls the AI department at Amanda's university while Hank calls every other apartment building in London with the word 'Regency' in the name, just in case Connor did get it wrong somehow, even though he has Amanda's handwritten note with her address in his pocket.

But when Connor gets through to the assistant of the AI department, she says there’s no one in the department named Amanda, and that she must not work there anymore. 

"What do you mean she doesn't work there?" Connor asks. "When did she quit?"

"I'm sorry," the assistant says. "I'm not able to discuss employee records beyond the information available on our website."

"I would have been her emergency contact, I'm her son..."

The assistant sighs. "Look," she says. "I just started a few weeks ago, but I don't know anyone by that name. That's all I can say. Our HR office is closed, but if you call in tomorrow, they may be able to help you if you were marked as her contact."

Connor hangs up without thanking her, not because he's trying to be rude, but just because he feels too dazed to remember his manners.

"No luck," Hank says when he gets off his call, setting his phone down. "What did they say?"

"That she doesn't work there anymore, and hasn't for at least a few weeks, and that I need to call into HR tomorrow to see if they can give me the date she terminated her employment." Connor shakes his head, staring at his phone like it's going to give him answers. "What the fuck, Hank?" he whispers. "It's like she just fucking vanished."

"Did she have...I don't know. An angry ex or anything? Anyone who might have been harassing her that she might be trying to hide from?"

"No," Connor says. "Not that I know of." Although he's starting to wonder how much he really knows if Amanda left her apartment and her employer without telling him.

“Okay,” Hank says. “I mean, this isn't _ good _, but it's better than if her building manager and employer had told you they haven't seen her in days. You know how these things go. This is more like she disappeared on her own, to hide from someone maybe, and asked them to keep quiet."

He's right, but it isn't much comfort, because why the fuck would Amanda need to disappear at all?

"That AI work she does," Hank says, "is there anything controversial there? Any reason anyone would have been angry with her for it?"

Connor pushes his hand through his hair, anxious energy coursing through him. "No," he says. "I mean, fuck, I don't know. I don't think so?"

"We can file a missing person report with the consulate tomorrow, too..."

"Fuck," Connor whispers, scrubbing his hands over his face.

Sumo pads over to him, sitting down against his leg and thumping his tail against the couch, and Connor pets him with a weak hand.

"Hey," Hank says softly. "What do you need?"

Connor lets out a shaky breath. "I need you to hold me."

So Hank does, while they're sitting on the couch, and through the night, too.

Connor knows because he doesn't sleep at all that night. He winds their fingers together where Hank's arm is draped over him, and he tries to comfort himself by focusing on Hank's breathing.

It helps. But it doesn't change anything.

It only makes it more bearable, less frightening, if only because he isn't alone.

Connor gets up at three in the morning, after lying awake for hours. He's careful as he extricates himself from Hank, and though Hank shifts, he doesn't wake up.

It's 8 am in London, so Connor retrieves his phone and retreats out to the living room, looking up the number for Amanda's human resources office as he does.

"Hi," he says when the assistant answers. His voice sounds hoarse, like he's been crying or he just woke up, but there’s not much he can do about it. "My name is Connor Stern. I called into your AI department yesterday - my mom took a job with your university a few years ago and moved to London, but I haven't heard from her in a few days, and I was told by the assistant in AI that she hasn't worked there at least for a few weeks. I'm wondering if you can give me any more information?"

"Oh, I'm so sorry," the woman says. "What was her name?"

"Amanda Stern."

"Okay, let me look her up." Connor can hear the faint clicking of a keyboard, and then, "Hm. We don't have a record of her."

"What? Nothing? She worked there, though."

"It's possible she requested to have her record removed when she terminated her employment? People can do that, if they want, if they don't want us keeping their information."

_ Or potentially sharing it with anyone _ , Connor thinks. _ What the fuck? _

"There are still payroll records," the assistant says. "But we can only share those with a warrant."

"Okay," Connor says weakly. "Thanks."

Connor sets his phone aside and drops his head to his hands. Sumo comes ambling over to him, hops up onto the couch beside him and puts his head in Connor's lap while he sits there.

A few minutes later, Connor hears the bedroom door open behind him. "Hey, Con?" Hank sits on the arm of the couch, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"She purged her record at the university," Connor says into his hands. "They can't tell me how long it's been since she worked there."

"Shit," Hank breathes. He reaches around, getting a hand on Connor's arm. "Come on, baby. We'll deal with this in the morning. You have to try to sleep. I have sleep aids if you want one."

Connor nods, tries to get up and follow him back the hallway. He only makes it halfway before he's stumbling into the bathroom, vomiting into the toilet.

"Fuck," he groans when Hank kneels beside him. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Hank says, rubbing his back. "Don't be sorry, sweetheart. You're okay."

Connor retches again, although his stomach is empty, and it comes up dry. "God, I'm so sorry."

"Shh." Hank kisses his hair. "It's okay, I promise. I'll get you some water."

"You're sweet," Connor says weakly, "and I'm gross."

Hank huffs a small laugh at that. "You're not gross."

"We've only been dating for three days and I'm throwing up in your bathroom," Connor whines.

"I was worse the night you had to take care of me, and we weren't dating then." Hank squeezes his shoulder. "I'll be right back, okay?"

"Can you get my toothbrush, too? I put it back in my bag."

Hank returns a few minutes later, sets the toothbrush on the sink and kneels at Connor's side to offer him the bottle of water and a tablet for his upset stomach. Connor chews it, and then forces himself to sit up as he drinks.

"Whatever happened," he says, "I don't know why she didn't tell me."

"I know," Hank says, "but you know sometimes people can't, baby. If she needed to hide from someone, like this looks like, she might not have had a choice." Hank gets up and offers Connor a hand, pulling him to his feet. "We'll call the consulate tomorrow, okay?"

Tomorrow doesn't feel soon enough, but Connor knows there's nothing else they can do. He brushes his teeth, and then they go back to bed.

By some miracle, or maybe just pure exhaustion, he does fall asleep with his head tucked against Hank's chest as the sun starts to come up.

Hank lets him sleep, even though he shouldn't if they're going to get to work on time. He doesn't wake Connor up with a hand on his shoulder until he's already dressed and the smell of fresh coffee is wafting in from the kitchen.

"Hey," Hank says when Connor opens his eyes. "I'm going to tell Jeff you called in sick, okay?"

Connor groans. "I can go in..."

"Connor," Hank interrupts him, "just stay here and sleep, okay? I'll call the consulate, and I'll try to leave early if I can."

Connor wants to argue, but his stomach is churning and his mind is foggy, and Hank's bed is warm and comfortable.

He nestles down deeper into the covers. "Okay," he says softly.

Hank kisses his forehead and ruffles his hair, and Connor must fall back asleep again, because he doesn't hear him leave.

Connor doesn’t sleep much past nine, although it’s still hours more than he would have gotten otherwise. When he goes to the kitchen to get another bottle of water, he finds that Hank must have gone out before work, because there’s a small breakfast buffet waiting for him with a little note on the counter that says, “Didn’t know what you would want with your stomach, so, you know. Here’s a little of everything.”

Connor doesn’t have much appetite, but he has to eat, and his sweet tooth tends to survive his anxiety-induced nausea. He takes one of the pastries and goes to sit on the couch with Sumo. He left his phone in the living room last night, so he retrieves it and turns it on.

He means to text Hank and ask if he called the consulate yet, and what they said, but there’s a waiting voicemail that catches his attention instead.

Connor fumbles his phone in his hurry to open it, almost drops it. When he finally gets it up on his screen, it’s from Amanda.

Connor can’t open it fast enough, tucking his knees into his chest and bringing his phone to his ear.

“Hi, Connor.” It’s Amanda’s voice - she sounds calm, peaceful, not under coercion. “I know you’re scared, sweetie. I haven’t called for a few days, and you’re probably looking for me. I’m okay, baby, but I need you not to try to find me. Please, trust me. I know this is confusing, and unfair, but there are some things I want to keep from you, for your own sake. I just...I want you to live your life and be okay. You’re so good, Connor. I’m so proud of you and who you’ve become. Just trust me, sweetie. Leave this stone unturned. I love you so much. You’ll be okay.”

Connor listens to the voicemail again, tears welling in his eyes, before he checks the call log to see what time she contacted him. There’s no record of it, though. His phone was on all night, the battery is almost dead, but it never rang.

“Fuck,” Connor whispers. “What the fuck?”

He sends the voicemail to Hank. “I got this overnight,” he says after he does. “I don’t know what to think. She sounds okay, I guess, but what the hell?”

He doesn’t wait for a response before he dials Amanda’s number. It rings, the way it has been, but once again, it goes to voicemail.

“Mom,” Connor says when it does. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m worried that you’re...fuck, I don’t know, in trouble, or involved in something, or something. Can you please call me? I know you don’t want me to look for you, but I want to talk to you. Please, I just want to know you’re okay.”

Connor hangs up, goes back to his message thread with Hank. “Yeah,” Hank wrote. “That’s fucking weird. Are you okay?”

Connor inhales through his nose, lets the deep breath out through his mouth. “I’m okay,” he writes back, “but can you come home over lunch?”

“Yeah,” Hank says. “Want me to bring you anything?”

Connor glances at the assortment of breakfast foods on the counter. “I think there’s food for days here. Thank you, by the way. Did you call the consulate?”

“Yeah, they’re going to open a file, but there’s not much they can tell us until they do some digging.”

“Ok. Thanks. You should get back to work.”

“Love you,” Hank writes, and Connor sends him a heart back.

He takes a shower, and then he takes Sumo for a walk, more to keep himself busy than anything else. They make it as far as the park a block down before they stop and sit a while.

He texts Amanda while they sit in the grass. “You know you can tell me anything and I won’t think less of you.”

There’s no response. Of course there isn’t.

Connor waits in the park until Hank will be leaving for lunch, and then he and Sumo head back.

Days pass before they hear from the consulate again. There's no further word from Amanda in that time, even though Connor tries again, multiple times, to contact her.

He stays at Hank's house a second night, although he feels guilty about leaving his cat by then and goes home. Hank comes over to his place in the evenings after that, gets there late enough that he's let Sumo out for the last time and can stay through the night.

Connor's bed is smaller than Hank's, but they sleep so close together that it hardly makes a difference.

The consulate calls Connor - Hank left his number when he made the report - when he and Hank are at lunch at few days later. "Mr. Stern?" the woman says. "I'm following up on the missing person report filed for your mother. It’s...an odd circumstance. We're unable to find any record of her. No work visa, no customs paperwork for her arrival in the UK...there's nothing."

"That's not possible," Connor says.

"Listen," the woman says. He can tell she's trying to be kind, comforting, but it isn't helping. "Sometimes we receive reports like this, where someone believes a family member is missing, and what's actually happened is that they've lied entirely about their location. There are a number of reasons why that might happen, and I won't presume to tell you about your own mother, but I think you need to consider that she didn't move to London, and that she’s likely somewhere else entirely."

"You're not listening to me," Connor says. "I don't know why there aren't any records, but I've visited her there. I _ know _ she lived there."

"I'm...not sure what to say," the woman says. "We checked the payroll records at the university, and she was never on staff. There's no record of her on any lease at the address you provided. And, again, we don't even have any record of her entering the country. The county police have her photo and are looking for her, but there's nothing else we can do. I’m so sorry."

"Okay," Connor says, mouth dry. "Thank you."

Hank is watching him when he hangs up and sets the phone in his lap. "Did you hear all that?" Connor asks softly.

"Yeah," Hank says.

Connor shakes his head, blinks to try to stop the tears from coming. "I don't know what to do," he whispers.

Hank grasps him by the shoulder, squeezing tightly. He doesn't try to offer comfort, because of course there isn't anything to say.

"She was in London," Connor says. "I visited her there, but she must not have entered the country properly? And so there's just...I mean, fuck, she must have _ tried _ not to leave a paper trail, and I have no idea why, but we're never going to find her when no one has a single record on her." Connor angrily pushes the heel of his hand into his eye - he's tired, and so fucking confused. "Jesus, Hank, she might not have even been using her real name with everyone else this whole time. I have no idea how we unravel this...it's meticulous."

"Yeah," Hank says softly. "Keep trying to get in touch with her. Maybe she'll call when she can."

But Amanda doesn't call again.

Connor tries the consulate a few more times, and the university and her apartment complex, too, just in case he speaks to someone else who knows something more - which, of course, he never does.

It becomes clear that, short of going to London himself and trying to hunt her down, there isn't going to be any resolution here.

Connor would do that, if he thought it would help. But if Amanda wanted him to find her, she would call. And it’s very, _ very _clear that Amanda has gone out of her way not to be tracked down, for a reason Connor can’t even begin to fathom.

He's confused, and lost, and angry, and those things just become something he has to make room for.

Connor and Hank spend Christmas together, and though it's easier than if they tried to do it alone, the holiday is its own burden. They go to Cole's grave, but there's nowhere to visit Amanda.

Connor doesn't know which is worse - if it's better to know or not.

The thing about grief, though, is that the human mind and body have an astonishing capacity for it, to bear it and make room for it and keep moving anyway.

Connor sees that happening to him, and to Hank. They just...keep moving. These things they've lost become a new normal.

He still calls Amanda once a week to leave a voicemail, and Hank still goes to visit Cole, and they live their lives otherwise. Some days hurt, but others are good, and at least they're together, even if they can't tell anyone they are.

On New Year's Eve, Hank and Connor go out with Chris and Tina, since that's become their tradition, and three minutes before midnight, Connor pulls Hank outside, into the dark alley a few buildings down. He brings in 2036 by tucking himself into Hank's coat against the cold Michigan air, kissing him as they hear the cheers going up from the bar down the road.

They stand there, tucked into each other, breath steaming and curling around them, and Connor watches the snow catch in Hank's hair.

"We should get back," Hank says, and Connor nods, but then they stay there a few minutes longer anyway.

They drove separately to keep up appearances, but they go home to the same place. They fuck, lazy and languid, in Hank's bed, and Connor thinks things aren't perfect, but they also aren't so bad.

"Is your cat okay with dogs?" Hank asks as they lie together afterwards, sweat cooling, voice sleepy and muffled against Connor's shoulder.

"I don't know," Connor says. Their fingers are wound together, and he raises their hands to kiss Hank's wrist. "Why?"

(He knows why.)

Hank kisses his hair. "Just thinking."

Connor turns enough to look at him. "It'd be a risk," he says softly, "but so is all of this. I would...if you asked me to. I don't like my apartment much anyway."

Hank kisses him again, tightens his arms around him, and they drift off together.

He doesn't ask. Not yet.

(But he will.)  



	3. 2036 & 2037

Connor has theories about what happened to Amanda, and of course he thinks about them often. Most that hold water involve her work, that perhaps, especially with android technology on a fast rise the last few years, she was recruited for research by England's government instead, that she was working on something she couldn't talk about. Maybe it was something dangerous, and she needed to go underground for some reason. That seems most likely, with the way so many of her records just disappeared, but Connor knows this is a case he'll never solve.

The only way he'll ever know is if Amanda contacts him again to tell him the truth.

He hasn't entirely given up hope on that, but he tries not to think about it too often. It's easier not to let himself lean too heavily on that particular wish.

Still, Connor lies in bed with Sumo the next morning, listens to the water running in the bathroom as Hank showers, and he thinks about it anyway.

He retrieves his phone, dials Amanda's number. It rings, the way it always does, but it goes to voicemail.

"Hey, Mom," he says. "It's New Year's Day. Hank and I both got today as our holiday at work, so we're going to go to Grand Rapids in a little bit. I don't know how much will be open, and it's just for the day, but...it's our first trip together. And it's far enough outside Detroit that we can just enjoy it." He sighs, reaching up to rub his forehead. "Anyway...I'm doing okay. I hope you are, too. I love you. Call me when you can."

Connor feels like he leaves her the same message every time. He tells her what he's doing, how work is going, how he and Hank are. Without knowing where she is, there's not much he can talk about outside himself.

He doesn't know if she's getting them, but he'll keep calling anyway, until she calls back...or until he knows she isn't.

The water shuts off in the bathroom, and a few minutes later, Hank steps back into the bedroom, his wet hair hanging loose around his face.

"You know he's not allowed on the bed," Hank says when he sees Sumo lying beside Connor.

Connor reaches out, strokes a hand through Sumo's fur as the dog gives Hank what looks like a happy smile. "I know," Connor says to him. "I'm nicer to you than he is."

"I'm nice," Hank says, turning and starting to root through his closet. "Just don't complain to me when he gets on the bed and walks over you in the middle of the night because you told him it was allowed."

Connor smiles at that, gets up and moves around the bed to wrap an arm around Hank, pressing his forehead between his shoulder blades.

Hank puts a hand on Connor's arm, squeezing him gently. "Hey," he says softly. "Get dressed. We have a long drive, and we have to swing by and feed your cat still."

Connor doesn't move, though. He just holds Hank the smallest bit closer.

"Listen," he says, "my lease is up in May. Just...so you know. If you were serious, and if you still want to in a few months. It's difficult, logistically, with both of us having pets, and I like it here, so...I would." Connor pushes Hank's hair aside, raises himself up enough that he can kiss the back of his neck. "Besides," he adds, "then we can bring our cases home and work on them here. We'll get so much done."

Hank snorts at that. "Don't get yourself all worked up when we have to leave in a few minutes, honey."

Connor grins, grazes his teeth over Hank's shoulder, and Hank turns in his arms and kisses Connor's forehead before he sends him off to the bathroom with a swat on his hip.

It's good, Connor thinks. All of this just..feels good.

It’s true there isn’t much to do in Grand Rapids on a holiday, but the movie theater is open, and even if two and a half hours is a long way to drive for a matinee, it’s worth it to raise the arm rest between them and cuddle into each other while they watch it.

There are some restaurants open, too, and they find a place that’s a nice splurge for dinner, and they sit across from each other and talk about things other than work and what they’ve lost, and Connor thinks the drive was worth the weightless feeling in his chest.

That’s the odd thing about grief, Connor thinks. He’s stronger because Hank needs him to be, even in the midst of Amanda’s disappearance, and he doesn’t know, but he thinks Hank might be better because Connor needs a resting place, too.

Misery loves company, people say, and maybe it does, but maybe it also isn’t as morbid as that phrase always sounds. There’s something about being needed that makes it so easy for Connor to hold himself together most of the time, to be stronger than he thinks he would be otherwise, and it’s never a burden, not when Hank is there for him in the same way.

They’re making each other better, Connor thinks. 

They took Connor’s car - it’s easier on fuel consumption by a wide margin, and its autonomous settings are preferable for the long drive.

On the way home, Connor reaches for the console, turns up the tint setting in the windows as far as it will go, and then climbs into Hank’s lap when the glass has gone dark.

“You know you’re still legally supposed to wear a seatbelt in these things,” Hank says, but he still kisses him.

“I won’t tell if you won’t, Lieutenant,” Connor says, letting the heat in his gut curl around his voice.

He kisses Hank one more time, and then he slips to the floor between his legs, working his belt undone and slipping his cock from his boxers.

“Thoughts?” Connor asks innocently, but Hank’s fingers sinking into his hair are answer enough, so he takes him in his mouth and hollows his cheeks around him, intending to swallow him down.

It doesn’t get that far before Hank is tugging Connor off with a gentle grip on his hair, pushing him into the back of the cab. It’s ridiculous, their attempt to both lay on the seat, even if it is much wider than a manual vehicle, and it’s equally ridiculous that Hank’s hand wrapped around both their cocks, stroking over them while Connor groans into his mouth, feels as tender as it does, but Connor wouldn’t trade it.

He figures he missed out on a few backseat handjobs when he was younger, anyway.

As they lie there afterwards, Connor reaches for the button that makes the roof translucent, and he twists so he can see the stars passing over them.

2035 was a hard year, and it left marks they’ll carry with them, good and bad.

Connor thinks 2036 has to be better.

And it is, for the most part. In March, they finally close the red ice ring they’ve been investigating for months, although it’s an unexpected tip from a domestic android, a relatively basic model, that gives them what they need to put it away.

The android was stolen for thirium, managed to escape somehow, but instead of returning to its owners, it comes to the DPD instead. Hank and Connor sit in an interrogation room with it, and it tells them the names it heard, the cooking locations, the distributors...everything.

“Why...I don’t know,” Hank says at some point. “Why are you here? Aren’t you programmed to just go home?”

The android looks at them, back and forth between them. “They’re hurting people,” it says, “and so I’m helping.”

That haunts Connor, fucks with him for days even after the arrests, when they should be celebrating a difficult case finally closed. He can’t explain why it fucks him up so much, but he thinks of the android with its dirty, broken skin, its mouth tinged thirium blue and its cloudy eyes, for days, and then weeks, afterwards.

The android shut down shortly afterward it spoke with them. Connor doesn’t know what was done with it after it was gone, and that upsets him, too. He stays with Hank two nights in a row afterwards, because he thinks about that android’s face too much when he’s alone.

He calls Amanda to tell her about it. He leaves a voicemail, wishes he could actually talk to her.

“It meant the other androids,” Connor says to Hank one night. “When it said they were hurting people. It meant the other androids.”

“I know,” Hank says, and he looks troubled, too.

Connor thinks of how its eyes were so dead and how he’s still sure he saw something like sadness in them. He invites Sumo onto the bed that night, because he needs to be close to the things that matter.

And he knows Hank feels it too, because he doesn’t say a word in complaint.

Connor hasn’t spent much time thinking about Amanda’s former work with CyberLife the last few years. She quit over ten years ago, so there hasn’t been much reason to. But now he does.

He thinks about the things she talked about when she worked there - sentience and autonomy and a slippery slope.

The domestic model was a simple one, without any advanced functions. It’s possible that its programming - a directive to help its family - just transplanted itself onto the other androids without a family to apply to.

But it fucks him up, the thought that the android saw itself in the others taken by the drug ring, that something inside it saw any sort of kinship with them.

And if it could perceive that, the similarities between them...well. It’s what Amanda worried about, the ethics of it all, of everything CyberLife was building. She worried CyberLife was too concerned with making the most advanced android technology, too focused on their own profit margins that they wouldn’t stop when they should.

It’s why she left. And it seems like she was right.

But Connor doesn’t know what to do about that.

(There’s nothing to do.)

So it becomes a case that sits with him. It’s his first that he can’t shake off, but he knows Hank has several like that, ones that he carries with him, silent fears. Every now and then, Connor sees an android on the street, and he remembers the one that came to them.

That android was alone, shut down alone, had nothing, but it was like it wanted to. And maybe that’s really why Connor finds it so disturbing, because he knows how easy that loneliness could have been his, and Hank’s too, after the accident and Amanda’s disappearance.

Connor holds Hank tighter at night after that, always.

But things keep moving, they always do. Fowler takes the precinct out to celebrate the closure of the red ice case, toasts Connor and Hank and their work at the bar, and the android goes entirely unmentioned, because why would he mention it?

Why would anyone think of that plain domestic android weeks later at all?

That android is just gone, the same way Amanda is.

Connor fucks into Hank that night, reaches around Hank’s shoulders and pulls him up to him, keeps a hand over his chest through it so he can feel his heart. It’s hard and fast and desperate, and Connor is trying to make himself forget, to get Hank close enough that he can’t feel anything else.

And maybe Hank knows, because afterwards, he says, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Connor says softly, reaching across the bed for his hand. “I just...” He doesn’t know how to explain that the android is scratching at some kind of existential dread inside of him and he doesn’t even know why, how he’s been thinking about how Amanda is gone and that android is gone and it’s been making him think about how tenuous all of this is, even the two of them, how one day Hank could be gone, too, or he could be...

Hank is still watching him expectantly, so Connor blinks and says, “That android just really fucked me up. I wish I could explain why.”

“Hey,” Hank says. “It’s okay. I’ve been thinking about it, too.”

Connor lets Hank gather him into his arms - he’s grateful, especially at times like this, that Hank’s hugs envelop him, warm and strong, the way they do. It’s enough to make him feel safe, protected, and they slow his racing mind, even if they can’t stop it entirely.

“Listen,” Hank says softly, stroking a hand over his hair. “You should talk to the DPD counselor, if this is affecting you so badly.”

“It shouldn’t be,” Connor says. “We closed it. We didn’t lose anybody doing it.”

“Weird things fuck with us, baby. You didn’t talk to anyone after your mom’s disappearance, either, and I think you should. As your partner.”

Connor likes that, how partner means two things for them, how it’s all-encompassing for what they are.

He nods against Hank’s chest, and he does make an appointment with the counselor. It helps, even if he can’t tell him about Hank and the things he’s afraid of losing.

In May, although Connor doesn’t update his address with the DPD, he and his cat do move in with Hank. Sumo chases Tabby for days before he calms down, and things are chaotic and messy while Connor works on unpacking, but after that, they settle into a normalcy that feels comfortable, peaceful. They go home together every night without having to coordinate their pets or their schedules, and Connor looks around Hank’s house and sees his things among Hank’s, and it feels good.

Connor is doing better. He went to talk to the counselor a few times, and he doesn’t think about that android so much anymore, or his anxious fear of losing Hank. Living together helps that, too - he feels more grounded, more tethered to Hank, and it’s more difficult to imagine becoming unmoored.

Hank comes home one night to find Connor sitting at his desk, headphones in, watching one of Amanda’s old lectures on performative sentience in artificial intelligence and where that sentience becomes real. He has all of them, but he hasn’t watched them in years. Science was never his interest.

“Hey, I got food,” Hank says, coming up behind Connor and dropping his hands on his shoulders, kissing his cheek. “What are you watching?”

Connor reaches up to grasp his hand. “It’s one of Mom’s old lectures.”

“You doing okay?” Hank asks.

“Yeah,” Connor says quickly. He closes the laptop, gets up and turns to kiss Hank. “Yeah, I was just...I don’t know. I just wanted to watch it. But I’m okay.”

Hank asks if Connor wants to put it on the tv while they eat, so Connor does. It occurs to him that this is the first time Hank has heard Amanda speak, and it feels bittersweet, because of course this may be the only way he ever does.

Mostly, though, Connor is just glad to share her with him. He should have thought of this sooner.

“She was right,” Connor says at some point. Amanda is talking about how if a machine thinks it’s alive, then it is, the ethical and moral implications of artificial intelligence. “About CyberLife. They’re not going to stop until we get here. We already saw a glimpse of it with that android. It was thinking about the other androids as beings that experienced pain, so it must have thought of itself that way, too. They’re just going to keep making machines that feel more and more, until eventually they’ll just be...”

“Truly sentient, yeah,” Hank finishes for him. “I’m sure the storm is coming.”

It is, Connor feels sure. But he has no idea the size of it. Not yet.

Connor will think later about how odd it was, and how foolish, that he thought he was prepared for this, that he saw the shape of things to come, just because he watched a few of his mother’s lectures.

He’ll think how knowing what’s coming doesn’t mean being prepared for it.

But he doesn’t know that yet. He sits there, and he eats his dinner and then tucks himself under Hank’s arm, and he watches his mother speak with a small swell of pride in his chest, and he grounds himself in the things he has. It’s a thing his counselor talks about sometimes, a coping tactic he’s supposed to use when he feels the fear of the unknown, of some unspecified loss rising up inside him.

It’s one that helps.

(It will help later, too.)

The summer passes. Hank and Connor fall into a rhythm - driving separately to work, hiding Connor’s car in the garage when he’s home, alternating who grocery shops so they aren’t seen at the store together. There are some inconveniences, but Connor wouldn’t trade them, not for the comfort and the reliability that comes with all of this. He likes having someone to come home to. He doesn’t think he would be doing nearly as well in the wake of Amanda’s disappearance without Hank.

He doesn’t think Hank would be doing as well after losing Cole, either.

So that’s the trade, and Connor would choose it over and over, again and again.

* * *

The first person they tell about their relationship, in August of 2036, is Jen. 

She and Hank haven’t talked as much this last year as they used to. They’ve tried to support each other where they can, but it’s difficult with the distance since Jen moved, and even if it weren’t, Connor knows it’s been easier for them to grieve separately, and that Hank doesn’t begrudge her anything.

They’ve texted now and again, emailed a few times, but Jen calls Hank one Sunday. Connor doesn’t know that she’s ever called. 

Hank is in the kitchen doing dishes, so Connor brings him his phone from the living room and leans back against the table while Hank answers it, listening to the conversation.

“Hey, Jen,” Hank says when he picks up. “How are you doing?...that’s good...oh, yeah, sure. That would be nice.” He glances over his shoulder at Connor then. “Listen...” Hank says into the phone, “can we go somewhere outside the city? I’d like to bring someone, if that’s okay, but it’s compli...oh. Yeah. It’s Connor.”

Connor hasn’t been able to hear the rest of the conversation, but Jen’s exclamation is loud enough for him to hear, “I fucking knew it!”

Connor stifles a smile as he wanders back into the living room, listening to the rest of Hank’s side of the conversation from the couch with his cat in his lap. (“Since December...he moved in back in May...we’re still working together...no, we haven’t told anyone else...yeah. Yeah, I really do.”)

Hank comes out to sit beside him later, after he hangs up and the dishes are done. “Jen says hi,” he says. “Think you can bail on Chris and Tina next Friday? She’s going to be in town.”

Connor still goes out with Chris and Tina every weekend, but they won’t mind if he ditches. “Sure,” he says. “How’s she doing?”

“She’s good. It was the right thing for her, I think. Moving back to where she had family who could help her through this. She didn’t...you know. She had friends here, but she didn’t have someone like you here.”

Connor leans over to kiss Hank’s cheek. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I know.”

It’s an entire year since Jen proposed it, and a full hour outside Detroit, but they do finally get that dinner. They go somewhere nice, and Hank wears a suit Connor can’t wait to peel off of him when they get home, and Jen waits outside the restaurant for them, smiles when she sees them walking up holding hands.

She hugs Hank first, but then she turns to Connor and hugs him, too. “I know you’ve taken care of him,” she says when she does. “I already love you for that.”

Connor likes her, too. He can see why she and Hank got along, at least when things were good. She’s good-natured the way he is, has a similar sharp sense of humor.

And it’s nice, sitting there with someone else, Hank occasionally putting a hand on his arm, not having to hide it.

Connor knows exactly how many days they have until March of 2039, when Hank will have enough years of service to take out his full pension. He tells Hank he isn’t counting down, but of course he is.

He suspects Hank is, too.

But it’s okay. Until then, they have each other, and they have nights like this.

* * *

Connor's birthday is the following week, on August 15th. They tried to work it out so they both had the same two days off in a row so they could go out of town without raising suspicion, but their schedules don't work out.

Hank is more disappointed about that than Connor is, just because it's their first one together, and Connor knows he wanted it to be nice.

It is nice, though. They order takeout sushi and eat on the couch and share a bottle of wine, and they shower together and go to bed early because they have work in the morning, and it's nice.

It's the best birthday Connor has had in years.

They do it over again for Hank's birthday a few weeks later, and the night is just as good, but it's getting colder, and the leaves are starting to change.

And autumn comes with several anniversaries for them, some of them difficult and painful.

The first is what would have been Cole's seventh birthday, later in September. Hank struggles through it. It's not uncommon for him to have a beer after a long day at work, but that night, he keeps reaching for the whiskey until Connor takes it from him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Connor asks, and Hank shrugs.

"I would - it's just...there's not really anything to say, you know?"

No, Connor supposes there isn't. "Come on," he says instead, reaching for Hank's hand. "Let's go to bed."

If Connor lies awake that night listening to Hank breathe, if he holds him closer, it's only because he caught a glimpse of the way Hank's grief might have hurt him before, of the things it might have taken from him. He's always aware of it, but the reminder is still a sharp one.

On October 11th, Connor mostly follows Hank's lead. He's not sure what will help, if he'll want to go visit Cole's grave, if he'll want Connor to come if he does, or if he'll just want to try to forget about it entirely, but whatever he needs, Connor wants to support him through it.

Hank catches him by the wrist after work, as they're walking to their cars. "Can you let Sumo out when you get home?" he asks. "I'm just...I'll be a little late. I want to go spend some time with him."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Connor asks. Sometimes Hank does, and sometimes he wants to be alone. Connor suspects he would be the same way himself, if there was anywhere he could go to visit Amanda.

"It's okay," Hank says. "I'll be home soon."

"Okay," Connor says softly, and Hank gives him a dim smile before they part ways.

Before Connor starts his car, he slips his phone from his pocket to text Hank the things he wants to say but can't in the DPD's parking lot. "I love you so much," he writes, "and you're so strong, but I wish you didn't have to be. I'll make dinner."

Hank left the parking lot before Connor, so he doesn't text back until he's at the graveyard, when Connor is pulling into their garage. "Love you, sweetheart - I promise I'm okay," is all it says, but Connor trusts him not to lie. Hank knows he doesn't need to pretend to be okay, not with him.

And he is okay, but that doesn't stop Connor from meeting him at the door when he gets home, and it doesn't stop him from guiding Hank down to lie on the couch or from pulling Hank's head into his lap so he can rub his back and stroke his fingers through his hair.

Hank doesn't cry until he's home, but he does cry, and Connor holds him through it.

"It's okay," Hank mumbles into Connor's lap later, once his tears are spent. "At least I know I can do it now. The next one will be easier."

Connor envies him that, just a bit, because of course the anniversary of Amanda's disappearance is coming.

Maybe the most regrettable part of that is that their one year anniversary is coming up, too, on December 5th, that the anniversaries of something that made Connor so fucking happy and his lowest point will always be three days apart, intermingled with each other.

But that's just the way life goes, Connor supposes. It's always a little bit of the good mixed in with the bad.

They do their best with it, anyway. Mostly it's Hank's doing, because Hank may have his own burdens, but he's still so good at being there for Connor when it matters.

Connor wakes up on December 5th against Hank's chest, blinking awake to Hank holding something in front of him and squinting at the bright light from the phone screen that greets him when he does.

"What?" he groans, shifting against Hank. "Just tell me what you're showing me; you know I don't like to read in the morning."

Hank kisses his forehead, and then his mouth, his tongue a warm glide over Connor's. Connor's leg is still tangled between Hank's from sleeping, and he can't help but rock into him, even as he breaks the kiss and says, "Hank. I have to get ready." Hank's off that day, but Connor isn't.

Hank taps him lightly on the forehead with his phone. "You could," he says, "or you could stay here and let me suck you off. That's really your choice, baby."

The screen of his phone comes into focus around his blurry vision by then, and Connor realizes Hank is showing him his own message thread with Jeff. "Hey, Jeff," the message Connor did not write says. "Sorry, I need to call out - I've been up throwing up all night."

Connor never calls out - Connor doesn't really get sick at all, usually. "Take it easy," Jeff wrote back. "See you tomorrow."

"Hank,” Connor starts, “this looks suspicious with you being off, too."

"No, it doesn't," Hank says. He nudges Connor onto his back, works his pajama bottoms over his hips. "No one thinks anything, baby. And you never call off." He nips at the skin above Connor's hip, takes it between his teeth and sucks gently until Connor bucks his hips with a small whine.

"Okay," he concedes, slipping his fingers into Hank's hair. "But you could have just gotten me up early if you wanted to fuck me."

Hank does that, sometimes, like he did that first night, wakes Connor up when it's still dark out and gently moves him so he can slip a hand into his pants to stroke him to hardness, fingers him and fucks into him slow and lazy, lets Connor wind their fingers together so he can hold on when he's still on the warm, hazy brink of sleep.

Connor complained about being woken up that first time, but he's learned his lesson. He doesn't anymore. Hank might even condition him into a morning person yet.

Hank settles himself between Connor's legs, has the nerve to wink at him as he presses the heel of his hand against Connor's cock. "Bold of you to assume this is the only thing I have planned for today," Hank says, wrapping a hand around him and teasing his thumb over the head of Connor's cock. "And besides," he murmurs, "I wanted to let you sleep in."

Connor tilts his head back, settles back against the pillow underneath him. "You know I love it when you talk dirty," he says, but that's the only smart comment he gets in before Hank takes him in his mouth and steals his coherency from him.

They go to Grand Rapids again - that's sort of their thing, their place to go when they need somewhere they can be reasonably sure they won't be seen together - and it's nothing unique to anything they've done before, but Connor didn't realize how much he needed to get out.

The anniversary of Amanda's disappearance has been looming large in front of him, and being at work or even at home, going through his usual routine, only gives his mind the chance to wander to what he's lost.

Connor likes this, how Hank knows things about him and about what he needs that Connor can't see yet. And he's grateful to just be able to focus on Hank, and on what they have, before the rest of it sets in.

On the anniversary of Amanda's death three days later, they go to the river, and they release a sky lantern for her. Connor picked it - there's a rose design on it, and it's biodegradable, with a simulated flame. He thinks she would have liked it.

It's hard to know how to honor somebody, Connor finds, when he doesn't even know if she's truly gone. But they watch the lantern float away from them, beautiful and bright against the night sky, and Hank wraps his arms around Connor and draws him back against him, and Connor thinks they've done okay.

He takes a picture of it against the night sky and sends it to Amanda later, even if he doesn't know if she's still getting his texts. "Did something for you tonight," he writes. "Love you, Mom."

There's no response - there never is - but that's okay. Connor sets his phone aside, and he lets Hank wrap him up in his arms, and he's okay.

(He really is okay.)

* * *

Hank and Connor are careful to protect what they have, which is why they’ve gotten away with it for an entire year.

Most people say getting away with things makes you sloppy, but Amanda always said it teaches you what works, helps you learn how to keep it up, that you get better as you go.

Connor thinks she might have been right.

He and Hank have been helped along by the fact that they had a close, companionable friendship before this. If Hank puts a hand on Connor’s shoulder every now and again, it’s no different than anything they’ve ever done. If anyone thinks there’s something more to their relationship, they’ve never mentioned it before.

No one does mention it until New Years Eve a few weeks later, when Connor and Hank go out with Chris and Tina like they always do. Chris is in the bathroom, and Hank goes to the bar to get another drink, and Tina leans across their bar table to Connor and says, “You’re into him, right?”

Connor is mid-drink, and around his sputter, it goes down the wrong way, burning his throat. At least it helps him look appropriately appalled to be asked the question. “What?” he croaks out, eyes running.

Tina rolls her eyes. “Hank. You’re going to fuck him the second he retires, right?”

Connor knows, from years of interrogations if not from personal experience, that the best way to get away with a lie is to tell a bit of the truth in a way that distracts from the actual issue.

What he comes up with in that moment is to look at Hank’s back at the bar, squint a bit like he’s noticing for the first time, and say, “I mean, he’s hot.”  _ He’s so fucking hot. _ “He can go to town on me if he wants in a few years.”  _ Kind of like he did earlier this evening... _

That’s enough to satisfy her, which means she doesn’t know anything else. It’s not  _ good _ , but at least she isn’t trying to pin him down in his lie about their relationship. “I knew it,” she says with a self-satisfied smile. “I think he likes you, too.”

“I mean. We’re friends,” Connor says, like Hank didn’t fuck him in the shower before they came out tonight.

“Mhm,” Tina says, smiling like she’s solved it and knows all there is to know. She has no idea the thread she’s tugging at, but Tina is good-natured at heart, so she lets it alone in the end. It’s a close call, but that’s all it is.

They can live with a few close calls, and with their good track record, Connor doesn’t expect more than a few of them.

Which is why he’s surprised when they’re caught entirely just a few days after that.

There’s a knock on the door while Hank is putting his laundry away, and they’re expecting pizza, and no one from work ever comes to their house, so Connor answers it without checking who’s outside first.

He should have checked.

“Chris!” Connor exclaims when he finds his friend waiting on his doorstep. He’s too surprised to try to sound like he isn’t being caught red-handed at something.

“Uh,” Chris says. “Hey, Con. Hank left his phone at work, and he’s not that far out of the way, so I was just...running it by for him.” He cranes his neck, trying to see into the living room. “What are you doing here?”

“We were watching the game,” Connor says, which is a stupid lie considering Chris knows how boring he finds sports, but he’s panicking.

“The game,” Chris repeats, sounding skeptical. “What game?”

“Uh,” Connor says, like an idiot. He’s very aware of Chris looking him over, aware that Chris is smart and even if he wasn’t, he’s obviously wearing one of Hank’s t-shirts.

Hank comes out into the living room then, stopping when he sees Chris in the door. “Hey, Chris,” he says, at least managing to sound more nonchalant than Connor is. “What’s up?”

“You, uh,” Chris says, looking between them. “You left your phone. At work.”

“Oh,” Hank says, coming over to the door to take it from him. “Thanks.”

And then, just in case they weren’t fucked enough yet, Tabby walks out of the kitchen behind them, hops up onto the back of the couch and stretches out there, pleased and self-satisfied no matter how he’s ruining their lives. Connor hopes Chris doesn’t remember, but he can tell from the look on his face that Chris knows it’s his cat.

Sure enough, when Chris finally recovers enough to say something, it’s, “Oh, what the fuck?”

“Come on,” Hank says, resigned and so much calmer than Connor feels. “Why don’t you come in and have a beer while we talk about this?”

“Yeah,” Chris says, looking between them one more time before he steps inside. “Jesus, okay. Just...what the fuck?”

They go to the kitchen, and Hank retrieves a few beers from the kitchen. “Can you grab the bottle opener?” he says to Connor, who stands there half-frozen because he isn’t sure he should look like he knows where things are in Hank’s house. Hank sees the thought process and gives him an amused look, nodding at Chris where he’s sitting at the table watching the two of them. “I think he’s just about worked it out, sweetheart.”

Connor clears his throat loudly, mostly to hide the awkward squeak that gets punched out of him from the cognitive dissonance of Hank calling him any of his many pet names while someone from work is right in front of them.

“Je-sus,” Chris says, dragging the word out so it stretches between them. “How long?”

“Um,” Connor says. He sits at the table across from him and passes him the bottle opener. “A little over a year.”

“A year?” Chris’ voice pitches high and disbelieving. “A  _ year _ ?”

“Yeah,” Connor says weakly. “It just...kind of happened.”

“Wait.  _ Wait _ . Your lease would have been up back at the beginning of the summer.”

“Good memory. You’ll make detective yet,” Connor says as Hank comes to sit beside him.

“So you’ve just...been living here?” Chris asks. “I mean, Christ, are you married too?”

“No,” Connor says at the same time Hank says, “Not yet.” Connor looks at him, but Hank just shrugs before he turns his attention back to Chris.

“Listen,” Hank says. “We obviously need your discretion here.”

“I’d say so,” Chris says. “A  _ year _ ? I’m sorry, I just...a year?? I mean, I knew you two liked each other, and I thought  _ maybe  _ you had hooked up once or twice, but shit...”

“Chris,” Connor says seriously. “You can’t tell anyone. Please, you have to promise me. Not even Tina.”

“She wouldn’t say anything.”

“I know. But the more people who know, the more likely it is that somebody makes a mistake.”

“Like not checking who’s at the door before you open it?”

“Yeah,” Connor says stiffly. “Like that.”

Chris takes a long swig of his beer, thinking. “Look,” he finally says, “you two are my friends, so I’m not going to do anything to fuck this up for you. I’m happy for you. I just...don’t want this to blow up in your faces.”

“I’m going to retire in two years,” Hank says, “and then it won’t matter.”

“Hey,” Chris says, “I hope the best for you, I really do. But a lot of shit can go down in two years.”

“Don’t worry,” Hank says. “We’ll be careful.”

The doorbell rings, and Connor gets up to get their pizza. “You can stay for dinner, if you want,” he says to Chris.

Chris does, and it doesn’t take long for their conversation to trail to other things, even if Connor is sitting there still stewing on his mistake. When Chris leaves, Hank walks him to the door, and Connor stays at the kitchen table, rubbing his fingers into his temples.

“I’m so sorry,” he says as soon as the door is closed. “I should have checked, even if we were expecting someone. I will from now on.”

“Hey.” Hank crosses the distance between them, sitting down beside Connor and pulling him into his arms. “It’s okay. It’s fine. Chris is a good friend - he’s not going to...”

“I know,” Connor says quickly. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Look at me,” Hank says, shifting back far enough that he can meet Connor’s eyes. “Even if Jeff fired me tomorrow, I wouldn’t regret you, okay? We would figure it out. You can’t hurt me, I promise.”

Connor nods. “Okay,” he whispers.

“Okay,” Hank repeats, smiling warmly when he reaches out to grasp Connor by the back of the neck. “Did I hear you try to tell him we were ‘watching the game’?”

He throws up air quotes when he says it, and Connor can’t help but smile. “Yeah.”

“God, you’re so fucking cute,” Hank laughs, ruffling his hair.

“Hey,” Connor says, catching Hank by the wrist when he goes to stand. “Do you really want to marry me?”

Hank looks at him like only Hank can, all warmth and adoration, like Connor is something unfathomably precious. “Yeah,” he says softly, bending to kiss Connor’s forehead, “I do.”

Connor catches Hank by the back of the neck and kisses him. He’s too overwhelmed to say he wants to, too...but he does.

The rest of their night passes quietly and uneventfully, and Connor doesn’t think much about their conversation with Chris, and certainly not about him saying, “A lot of shit can go down in two years.”

It’s one of those moments that won’t seem relevant until later, when it becomes clear how true it was.

It starts to come into focus a few months later, in May of 2037, when Jeff calls Hank and Connor into his office.

“We need good people on android crimes and deviancy investigations,” he tells them, “and we can’t lose anyone off homicide, so it’s going to be you two.”

Connor and Hank glance at each other, and he knows they’re thinking the same thing.

They saw the storm picking up, the first hints of it, months ago.

And now, it’s here.

* * *

Developments in android technology move fast these days, and androids have come a long way from the one who tipped Hank and Connor off to the red ice ring months ago. They look more human, emulate human emotions better than they once did (although Connor will never forget how genuine that android was when it said, “They’re hurting people, and so I’m helping.”)

Hank and Connor subpoena records from CyberLife and bring several programmers in to interview, trying to understand how all androids ‘think’. They want to know what they’re dealing with, get inside the minds of the machines they’re investigating. They would  _ like  _ to talk to Elijah Kamski, CyberLife’s founder and the mind behind it all, but of course he was found dead in his home a few years back, and when they search through his records, it becomes clear that he destroyed a significant number of them. There’s hardly anything to find.

Still, they work with what they have, whatever the other programmers can give them. One talks proudly about the protocols they’ve built in to simulate human affection and loyalty and protectiveness in domestic nanny androids. “You see how much better this is for the child?” he asks, and while Connor sits next to Hank on the couch after work, he plays that part of the interview over and over again.

“This is the problem,” he says. “They’ve built these things so they think they love the children they’re caring for.”

It tracks. Most of the android crimes they’ve encountered so far are acts of aggression in response to a perceived threat to a child, whether real or not. They’ve all been domestic androids so far.

“Yeah,” Hank says, rubbing his forehead. “Really fucked up.”

CyberLife recalls their recent line of domestic androids. It’s not enough.

Deviancy spreads to other android models. Soon it’s construction workers, and production assistants, and nurses, and sometimes it’s a protective response to a human being threatened, but sometimes it seems equally like self-preservation. There’s no predictability to it anymore.

And Hank and Connor have so many cases piling up on their desks that they don’t know where to turn.

They take the work home with them most nights. It’s affecting their time together in a way Connor doesn’t like, because they work all day and then all evening and at home until they go to bed. He’s more grateful than ever that they live together, but he wishes there was an end in sight.

Jeff gives them leeway to create a task force to help with the cases given the high volume, so they choose to bring Chris and Tina on. It helps lighten the load, but only a bit. They’re still stretched thin.

“The problem is CyberLife,” Connor says to Hank at some point. “The whole thing should be shut down.”

“This country’s whole economy would come grinding to a halt if they were, and so they never will be,” Hank says.

“This is just going to keep happening,” Connor says, pushing a hand through his hair. “Do you think they really feel anything? The androids?”

They’ve found plenty of hiding deviants at this point, and have interviewed the ones in condition to speak. They’re life-like - that much is undeniable. Connor is always struck by just how much.

“I don’t know,” Hank says. He sounds as tired as Connor feels. “What was it your mom said? That if something thinks it’s alive, then it is? Maybe it’s like that.”

“If they’re alive,” Connor says, “then we’re killing them.”

They don’t pull at that thread again. These are just cases for them to solve like any others, and Connor tries not to think about it any further beyond that. When he remembers that android from the red ice ring, when he wonders if they’re on the right side at all, as he frequently does these days, he goes and finds Hank or Sumo or Tabby and holds them until he feels calmer.

It works to ground him, at least for a time. It’s not his job to think about what’s right or fair here. It’s just his job to solve it, because deviants are dangerous, growing more so every day, and he has to protect his family.

Even if that means putting them away. Even if he isn’t sure it’s right.

In the fall, Hank and Connor investigate an abandoned apartment where one of their recently reported deviants was sighted. The android is hiding in the attic, and he knocks Connor down when he jumps to the floor and runs.

Connor pushes himself to his feet and takes off after him. He’s faster than Hank is, and he thinks he can catch him. They’ve found that if deviants murder once, they’re likely to do it again, especially as their stress levels rise trying to hide.

This one already has three deaths he’s responsible for, and maybe a fourth. They have to bring him in.

Connor keeps pace with the android across the roofs. Hank was behind them, but they circle back in such a way that they run into Hank. The android bumps into him, knocks him over the side of the roof. Hank only just manages to catch himself, clinging to the side of the building.

“I’m okay, go!” Hank yells at Connor, but Connor only watches the android’s retreating back for a second before he dives forward, grasping Hank by the arm and pulling him back over.

“Are you okay?” Connor asks, looking him over. He breaks their rule, reaches out to put a shaking hand on Hank’s cheek as he studies him.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Hank says, waving him off. “You can’t do that. You had him. Our relationship can’t compromise...”

“God, Hank, shut the fuck up,” Connor says, and he breaks their rule again by kissing him. They’re on the roofs. There’s no one around to see them.

Hank lets him. “I’m okay,” he says, softer now. They’re both shaking, and they don’t move for a long time.

They don’t broach the issue again until they’re in the car, driving back to the station empty-handed save for an encrypted journal.

“Jeff will assign us different partners if he thinks we’re too close to each other to be objective,” Hank says, “and I don’t trust anyone else to watch your back the same way I do. If I tell you I’m okay, I’m okay. I need you to trust me.”

“I know,” Connor says softly. “I’m sorry.” He is. He doesn’t trust anyone else to watch Hank’s back, either. He knows this is important.

Hank looks over at him, face softening, and offers Connor his hand. Connor takes it grateful, winding their fingers together.

He wishes he could say he won’t fuck up that way again. He would, if he only knew for sure it was true. 

And the thing is, he knows Hank would have done exactly the same thing, and that he would do it again, if the roles were reversed.

They drive in silence for a few minutes, until Hank says, “I don’t think he meant to push me. The kid, I mean.” 

“The deviant,” Connor says.

“Yeah.” Hank shrugs. “I don’t know. I think it was an accident. I don’t think he meant to. They’re...even when they’re off their programming, I think most of them have...I don’t know. A basic sense of decency, I guess. A moral compass, maybe.”

“What are you saying?” Connor asks.

“I don’t know,” he says, squeezing Connors hand. “I guess I’m just talking. It’s just...we’ve put so much effort into trying to understand them, but CyberLife made them so human that maybe we already do. Maybe...I don’t know. Maybe we aren’t that different. That’s all.”


	4. January to October, 2038

The thing about cases like this, the big ones, is that they make the people on them think about the way the world works. 

Hank’s first red ice ring was like that - he’s talked before about how he was supposed to be putting dealers away, and instead he spent most of his time thinking about how those people got there in the first place, about how they got chewed up and spit out by a world that’s moving on without them, how so many of them lost their jobs because android labor is the cheaper bottom line. He thought about how they got so fucked over, and how his role in this was to lock them up like that was going to solve the cyclical nature of unemployment and poverty and depression that drove them to it in the first place.

He thought about how he was a cog in the machine, and how all this work he was doing would never change anything.

Connor feels like that now, like he’s a gear spinning in place, locked in by the teeth, unable to move anywhere other than where he’s been directed.

It weighs on him.

Autumn passes, the anniversaries of Cole’s death and Amanda’s disappearance, Connor’s birthday and Hank’s. Christmas comes and goes, and when 2038 rolls in on them, they’re still turning in place with these deviant cases. Jeff is starting to think about creating an android crimes division given the volume of their work - he’s asked Hank to head it up if he does.

“I’m retiring next year,” Hank told him when he did. “Give it to Connor, if he wants it. I’m not sure if he would, but he deserves it.

It would be a nice promotion, and a nice acknowledgement of his accomplishments, but Hank is right to wonder if he’s interested at all. Connor isn’t sure he is.

There’s a sick feeling in his gut every time they collar a deviant and ultimately send them off with CyberLife techs for examination and deconstruction. It’s like Hank said - they aren’t fixing the problem, the real one.

They’re just keeping up appearances.

In February, they investigate a murder at the Eden Club. There was only one android involved in the murder, but two of them are trying to escape, both of them trying to protect the other. They jump Hank and Connor in the garage, and one of them gets Hank’s gun in the scuffle, puts it to Connor’s head.

“Hey!” Connor hears Hank yell behind him, but he can’t turn to look at him. He slowly raises his hands where the android can see them, looking her in the eye.

“We just want to go,” the android says. There are tears on her face.

It’s not the first time Connor has heard it.

It’s what most of them want, in the end.

The android is holding the gun with an unpracticed hand, and Connor knows he could get it from her if he tried. A feint to the left, and then a hand on her wrist and a twist to her arm...he could get it back.

But the other android has a screwdriver to Hank’s throat, and Connor only needs to glance at him once for Hank to nod at him.

“Okay,” Connor says to the android, even if he’s looking at Hank. “Okay. Then go.”

“Thank you.” The android reaches to grasp Connor by the wrist, although she pulls back immediately, looking at him with a furrowed brow as the other steps away from Hank, backs away from him to slowly join her.

“You don’t...” she starts, but then she cuts off, shaking her head. “Thank you.”

She takes the other android’s hand, and they leave.

Hank is beside him a moment later, a hand on the back of Connor’s neck, pulling him into his arms. Connor would remind him about their rules, what is and isn’t allowed at work, if he wasn’t so desperate for Hank to hold him up.

When Connor wakes up the next morning, Hank is already out of bed, but there’s something on his pillow that Connor’s fingers brush over. He lifts his head, blinking into focus, and realizes it’s a ring box, a simple silver band inside.

“I don’t know where you’re at,” the little note inside it says, “but I’m tired of waiting, and we don’t have forever. I want to, if you do.”

Connor does want to. He thinks of all the ways he’s almost lost Hank, to the accident and his grief and the perils of a job that’s only getting more dangerous lately. He wants to.

He takes the ring from the box, slips it on.

It fits.

"I tried to get Sumo to walk it in to you, but he wasn't having it." Connor looks up to find Hank standing in the door, watching him with a warm smile on his face. "If you think this is stupid, you can tell me."

Connor gets up, goes to his dresser and digs around in his top drawer. "It is stupid," he says as he does. "It would be profoundly stupid for us, while we still need to hide our relationship, to get married." His fingers close on what he's looking for, and he pulls it out, holding it out to Hank. "But I had the same idea."

The ring he bought Hank weeks ago is a wider band than his, but it's no less simple, plain titanium with a wooden inlay. Connor is proud of it - he thinks it looks like something Hank would wear.

Hank takes it, tracing a thumb around it with tears welling in his eyes. "Why didn't you ask?" he says.

"I don't know," Connor admits. "I guess it makes me feel safer when you move first." It's how they started, too. Connor watched Hank and quietly loved him for years, but he isn't sure when he would have done anything about it if Hank hadn't kissed him in the car that day. Connor nods at the ring in Hank's hand. "Put it on."

Hank does, looking at it for a moment. "I guess we're stupid," he finally says.

Connor can't stop the laugh that bubbles out of him. "Yeah," he says, crossing the room and slipping himself into Hank's arms. "I guess we are."

"We're not going to be able to have anyone there," Hank says. "Is that going to bother you?"

"No," Connor says. "I just need you."

Hank puts his hands on Connor's face, kissing his forehead. "Okay," he says. "Then I'm in."

The hardest thing is going in to work that day and leaving his ring behind, but Connor supposes he'll have to get used to that, at least for the next year, until Hank retires.

Hank files a report for his missing service weapon - the Traci androids took it with them last night - and around lunch, Jeff comes out and leans against the corner of his desk.

"You two okay after last night?" he asks, looking between Hank and Connor.

"Yeah," Hank says. "They just got the jump on us."

"Okay," Jeff says. "I'd offer you time off, but...you know..."

Connor glances at the hundreds of case files on his terminal. He knows.

"That's alright," Hank says. "We're fine."

Jeff claps him on the shoulder and gets up to return to his office. "Jeff," Hank says as he turns to go, "this is just going to keep escalating, man."

"Yeah," Jeff says, giving Hank a grim smile, "I know. Thanks...you know. For your work on this. I know it's been tough."

Once he's gone, Hank looks across to Connor. "Come on," he says. "There's a sighting tip on the AX400 - let's go check it out."

"Which one?" Connor asks. He isn't being sarcastic - they have nine AX400's in their missing files right now.

"Uh. Williams, I think? The one with the child android."

Connor gets up and follows after him. When they're in the car, he reaches for his hand. They normally follow their rules for work no matter where they are - in the car, at a crime scene, getting lunch. It's just easier to keep the different parts of their lives compartmentalized.

But he figures they've earned it, and if Hank winding their fingers together is any indication, he agrees.

The tip came in from a hotel manager who says the AX400 rented a room the previous evening. The clerk didn't recognize her, but when the manager got in that morning, he saw her in the window and knew her face from the news.

"I didn't want to confront her," the manager says when they get there. "I didn't know if she was dangerous."

"They usually aren't unless the person confronting them is aggressive first," Connor says. Most people have a wrong impression of deviant android behavior, they've found, but media coverage has a way of inciting a panic. "We find they mostly just try to run, but you were right to call us."

"She had another android with her."

"The YK500 child model, yeah," Hank says. "We know about it."

"No, I mean another adult...fuck, are they adults? Really big guy, like a construction laborer."

"Huh," Hank says, looking at Connor. "Do we have anything on a TR400?"

"Nothing active," Connor says.

"Hm." Hank turns back to the manager. "Alright, thanks. We'll take a look."

The hotel room is empty - most deviant androids know better than to stay in one place too long these days. But the tub is still wet from a shower, and there's an LED in the sink. "Just one?" Hank asks when he sees Connor looking at it.

"Yeah," Connor says, "but we know Williams gouged the YK500's out when he got it so he could play house with it."

"Really bring out the worst in people, don't they?" Hank says. He's expressed it before, that androids just let sick people act sick, that he can hardly blame some of the androids they hunt down for trying to get away from the people who owned them.

"Sometimes," Connor says.

There's movement in the alley behind the hotel that catches his eye from the bathroom window. "Hank," he says. "I think I've got them."

The androids are walking fast, but they're still walking, trying not to draw attention to themselves. Connor unholsters his gun, ducks out of the room and around the hotel in the same direction, and it isn't long before he closes on them.

"Kara," the TR400 says when he looks over his shoulder and sees him, and that's how the chase starts.

It's not until they get to the chain link fence that Connor realizes how this is going to go, that the androids would rather dive into traffic, mostly autonomous cars that certainly won't stop for them, than be caught.

He's going to run them right into it.

So he just...stops, without even properly making the decision to. Puts his hands up when they turn to look at him, holds his gun out in a loose grip where they can see. 

“It’s okay,” Connor says, breathing hard. “Just...don’t do it. It’s okay. You can go.”

They look at each other, Kara and the TR400 Connor heard her call Luther, and then Luther pulls the child android back from the chain link fence, puts her back on his shoulder as they slowly start towards Connor.

The only way out of the alley is past him. Kara leads, looking Connor in the eye when she reaches him. "Thank you," she whispers.

Hank is further down the alley, closing on them, and Connor turns to meet his eye when he hears him behind them.

Hank doesn't do anything to stop the androids. He's tired, too, Connor knows. They've both felt wrong for closing a case before, like the justice they were serving wasn't justice at all, but they've never felt it as consistently as they have since they moved to android crimes.

"We won't file it in the report," Hank says as they drive back to the station. "They were already gone when we got there."

"Okay," Connor says softly. He's second-guessing himself about letting them go, and Hank knows it.

"Hey," Hank says, grasping him by the back of the neck. "It's okay. You did the right thing."

Connor gives him a small smile. "Then why aren't we reporting it?"

"Because," Hank sighs, "we're not always on the right side. Todd Williams was a fucking prick." He shakes his head. "A lot of people are fucking pricks."

"Some people aren't," Connor offers.

"Let's say half and half, then," Hank says. "Want to get lunch while we're out?"

When they get back to the precinct, they file their report for the scene. Hank's corroborates Connor's, and neither of them mentions the sighting or the chase.

A report comes in that same day about a body found just outside the city - some guy named Zlatko. He lived alone, and has probably been dead for a few days - a delivery android found him because of the smell. 

There are dozens of mutilated androids in his residence, some of them held in cages, all of them experiments. When they investigate the scene and check access records for the security system, they find two recorded users - Zlatko, and a TR400 named Luther.

Connor and Hank can’t mention it, not when it contradicts their report, but they share a look when they realize this is where that android came from.

Connor is glad he got away from here.

"Hey," Hank says when they get home, when he can see Connor is still thinking about it. “What are you thinking about?”

“I don’t know,” Connor admits. “I feel like we did something wrong, I guess, even if I know we didn’t.

He reaches for Connor, pulls him into his arms. "People in our line of work have covered up way fucking worse, baby."

"I know," Connor says. "I'm just tired of this."

"Yeah," Hank says. "Me too."

Connor puts his ring back on, discovers that spinning it on his finger helps. It gives his hands something productive but idle to do with the anxious energy coursing through him.

The only thing that helps more is when Hank takes his hand, when their fingers laced together press the ring into Connor's skin like a reminder he desperately needs and can't forget.

They're okay. They're together. Hank, at least, is so close to being done with the shit at work, and they're both almost done having to hide themselves.

Things are going to be okay, Connor thinks as he leans into Hank, settles his head on his shoulder and feels Hank press a kiss to his forehead.

He really does believe that. In spite of everything else, he does.

But things have a way of getting worse before they get better.

* * *

In retrospect, maybe Connor should have seen the deviancy crisis going the way it ultimately does. They’ve seen some telltale signs that the deviants are organizing over the last few months, after all.

He probably doesn’t have a right to be surprised by the revolution that mounts under their feet, but it’s not the sort of thing anyone ever expects.

First, it’s a protest against CyberLife, and then another, and another. Then, the organized walkouts of deviant android laborers who have to date stayed in their positions, pretending nothing has changed.

By the time of the Stratford Tower broadcast in August, it’s clear that  _ something _ is on the horizon. Something big.

And other people know it, too.

Jeff comes out of his office when Hank and Connor are leaving to walk through the Stratford Tower scene. They’ve already watched the broadcast - everyone in the DPD has. “Hey,” he calls, holding them back. “The FBI is going to be there. Just...so you know.”

“Oh, fuck,” Hank says. “They got called in?”

“Yeah,” Jeff says. “Between us, I think you two will probably be back on narcotics soon. They’re going to take the case over.”

“Great,” Hank says, rubbing his neck. “Let’s go, Con.”

The FBI agent they meet at Stratford Tower, Perkins, is, as Hank would say, “a real fucking piece of work.”

“I’ll be wanting to interview you both tomorrow about your work on these cases,” Perkins says as he’s leaving. “Tread lightly - don’t fuck up my crime scene.”

Connor is turning on his heel, ready to say, “Excuse me?” when Hank catches him by the arm.

“Not worth it,” he says in a low voice, calm and resigned. “Come on. Let’s look around.”

They don’t find much. Signs of a struggle, but they knew that already. A team of four deviants, but they might have guessed it was a small cluster from the ease with which they infiltrated the tower. There’s a deviant android in the lineup in the kitchen, but Connor pretends not to see him. He isn’t doing anything, isn’t a threat, so Connor leaves him alone.

(Most of them aren’t threats.)

He tells Perkins as much the next day, when they sit alone in an interrogation room. Perkins has every case Connor and Hank have closed in front of him, and all the others that they haven’t.

“This WB200 that you gave chase to a while back,” Perkins says. “You lost it, but we don’t know it to be a particularly fast model.”

Connor lost it because he chose to help Hank, even when Hank told him not to, so he sits on edge. “What are you asking me?” he says stiffly.

“We’re trying to understand if deviancy alters physical traits in any way. Did you find it to be fast?”

“I don’t know,” Connor says. “Not really. It just accidentally knocked my partner off the roof, so I pulled him back. I lost the deviant in the process.”

“Accidentally,” Perkins repeats. “How do you know it was an accident?”

“I don’t,” Connor says. “We just haven’t found them, in most cases, to be unnecessarily violent or aggressive, even when they’re being pursued.”

Perkins hums again, but Connor doesn’t think he’s actually considering anything he’s saying. “Something similar happened a few months later, at the Eden Club,” he says. “You had the deviants cornered, and they gave you the slip, just like the one on the roof.”

“It wasn’t similar,” Connor says. “I believe my report was very clear that the Traci got Hank’s gun and had it on me.” He doesn’t mention that he knows he could have gotten it back.

Perkins thumbs through the files again, then says, “Closed cases have gone down recently. You haven’t had much luck the last few months, have you?”

“Nope,” Connor says dryly, narrowing his eyes. “I guess not.”

“Are you sympathetic to the deviants, Detective Stern?”

“No,” Connor says stiffly. “They’re just getting smarter and more organized. It’s the way these things go.”

Perkins looks through his things one more time, then says, “If I have any other questions, I’ll let you know.” He rises to shake Connor’s hand as he leaves, but Connor pretends not to see as he walks out.

“Real peach, isn’t he?” Hank asks when Connor returns to his desk.

“He thinks we fucked this up,” Connor says under his breath, but Hank just shrugs.

“Maybe that’s not the worst thing.”

It goes the way they expect. In two days, Jeff calls them into his office and tells them they’re off the deviancy cases and android crimes entirely, that they’re both back on narcotics.

Neither of them push back. They’re glad, in some ways, for this to be over. They can move on, have more time together that isn’t spent poring over case files again.

Hank hangs back when Connor leaves Jeff’s office, and Connor hears him say, “Listen. I’m going to need some time off in October. I haven’t taken a trip in a while, and I need to get out for a bit.”

Connor doesn’t hear the rest of it.

“Going somewhere without me?” he texts Hank when he gets back to his desk.

“With you, I hope,” Hank writes back. “You have the second weekend off in October, and Niagara Falls is beautiful that time of year. Good place to elope, I hear.”

Connor looks up from his phone to find Hank smiling at him.

“That so?” he says out loud, and Hank’s smile broadens.

“What do you say?” he asks.

Connor looks at Hank, at the warm, gentle light in his eyes, feels his heart try to rend itself in two because he loves him so much, and says, “Yes.”

* * *

The two months between August and October are some of the best Connor and Hank have had in a while. Narcotics cases aren’t necessarily easy, but they don’t get under their skin the way the deviant investigations did.

Perkins doesn’t question them any further, and Connor is all too happy not to see him again.

It feels odd, maybe, that their lives are calming down and falling back into normalcy while the world around them is changing, but Connor won’t complain.

He hopes Jericho does what it set out to, that they win their autonomy, but also that they topple CyberLife as a corporation, the whole system that built them.

He hopes. He really does.

On October 12th, a Friday, he and Hank leave instructions for Chris, who’s feeding their cat over the weekend, and then they load Sumo into Connor’s car and drive the four hours to New York. They’ve given themselves enough time that they can be leisurely in their pace - they stop at a Canadian national park about halfway through their drive and let Sumo run around for a bit, and again at a diner for lunch.

They stay in a plain hotel on the New York side of the falls, something no frills that allows dogs, and Sumo takes one bed while Hank and Connor take the other.

They get married the next day, outside a small white chapel, the water in front of them and the autumn leaves ablaze at their backs. Sumo stands with them since no one else can, a small bouquet tied to his collar.

They write their own vows, and Hank tells Connor that he saved his life, and Connor tells Hank that he’s loved him as long as he’s known him, and they dance in the small pavilion under the stars, just the two of them.

It’s two days after the anniversary of the accident. Connor asked Hank if that was really what he wanted, for the two to be so close.

But Hank was sure, because that’s life, the good and the bad, because it’s all mixed together in a chaotic tangle, because three years ago Hank was lying in his hospital bed grieving his son and holding onto Connor and realizing that he didn’t know how to live without him anymore all at once, a mess of pain and catharsis, the start of something.

They’re married on October 13th, 2038.

They only have five months left until Hank can retire with a full pension.

They’re so close.

They don’t watch the news while they’re in Niagara Falls. If they did, they would have seen the demonstration Jericho mounted - another mass walkout, and a march, and materials reported missing from a nuclear plant.

They stay tucked away, blissfully unaware as they sleep in and fuck lazily under the warmth of down covers, as they walk downtown with Sumo, holding hands and wearing their rings.

If they knew, maybe they would have stayed away from Detroit a while longer.


	5. November, 2038

But Hank and Connor don't stay in New York. They go home, and even then, the two of them are still okay, even after they get back to Detroit, at least for a few weeks, even if everything else seems to be going to shit. The US army doesn't find the dirty bomb, but they do find Jericho, an abandoned freighter in the Ferndale distract, and they tear through the deviants using it as a residence and a base of operations.

They say no one survived. They evacuate the areas near the Ferndale district, presuming the bomb is near Jericho, and they do temperature scans and blood checks on the people leaving, just in case any androids slipped through.

If there are any deviants left, they're in Ferndale, and Ferndale is being combed through street by street for anyone remaining there. The rest of the deviants, the ones captured at Jericho, are being researched by CyberLife where necessary, and disposed of entirely if not.

Connor doesn't know how long it will be until things are over, but he suspects they're near the end - whatever end it might be.

He doesn't account for Markus or North, Josh or Simon. He doesn't expect them to organize another broadcast, or for Markus to threaten that they'll detonate their bomb if CyberLife doesn't release the androids they still have in custody. And maybe he should have - maybe Connor should have known, after years of tracking them, that these aren't people who lie down easy.

But the threat is clear, and the vision of the future that might be waiting for them. If CyberLife, and the US government at large, doesn't turn their people over, Markus, for all the ways he and the other androids have been peaceful to date, is willing to start a war to protect his people.

The evacuation orders come not long after. It makes sense, getting everyone out of Detroit so the military can presume anyone left behind on the streets is an android and shoot on sight.

The order came from well above them, but the DPD assists with the evacuations. Hank and Connor are at one of the checkpoints, running scans.

It's getting late. The sun is going down, and everyone was supposed to be out of Detroit three hours ago. There have been a few stragglers coming through, but not many. They’re supposed to man the checkpoint until 8, but at 7, Hank turns to Connor and says, "Why don't you go home and get the animals and pack everything up, and meet me back here so we can leave right away? I've got this."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," Hank says, crossing his arms over his chest against the wind. "I want to get out of here."

Connor slips his hand into Hank's, squeezes once before he goes.

The city has just about gone to shit. Connor drives past blue blood on the snow, and he tries not to look. He shows his badge at the only checkpoint he hits, gets waved through.

He packs clothes and supplies for two weeks, because that's about all their suitcases can fit, but he knows it might be longer. He puts Tabby into his carrier, gets Sumo's leash on, puts them and their food in the car. He takes their passports, and their wedding rings from the bedside table, and then he goes.

It feels sad, leaving their home behind, even if he knows they'll be back eventually. Connor loves it there, in a way he hasn't loved any home of his since the one he shared with Amanda. Everything else has just been something temporary, a place he was only passing through.

Connor lets Sumo sit in the front seat, and he looks at him when he gets in, at the broad smile on his face, because he just knows they're going somewhere and doesn't know why. Connor reaches over and pets him fondly, and then he puts the car in gear.

It's a few minutes before eight when he gets back to Hank. Connor presses Hank's ring into his hand once they're in the car, and Hank leans over and kisses him.

"We good?" Hank asks.

Connor sets their passports on the console. "Yeah," he says. "I think we are."

Their plan is to go to Canada for a few weeks. It's where most people evacuating the city are going. The deviancy crisis has been primarily relegated to Detroit, but there are signs it's spreading elsewhere in the US. Canada seems like the safest place to bed down for a while.

They get waved through the first checkpoint they hit by soldiers who recognize them, but stopped at the next one. Connor rolls his window down for the temperature scan, wincing against the cold. 

The soldier looks at the scanner when it beeps, furrows his brow. "Sir, can I ask you to step outside the car?" he says.

"Is everything okay?" Connor asks.

"The scan is coming back hot, but it can get tripped up just from a high fever sometimes. We just need to run a blood test when they come back abnormal, just to be sure."

Connor doesn't have a fever, but he doesn't argue. This will go faster if he doesn't.

When he steps outside, he hears Hank opening his door, too. "Sir, that's not necessary..." the other soldier tries to say, but Hank waves him off.

"Just stretching my legs," he says in that amiable tone of his, the one he's using when he's trying to wave someone off his case.

It works. They don't tell him to get back in the car, and Hank leans back against the hood with Connor while they wait for the soldier to retrieve the blood test.

"You didn't say you had a fever," he says to Connor.

"I don't think I do."

Hank rubs the back of his neck, rolling his shoulders. "If they're going to detain people based on it, you'd think they'd have less buggy scanners."

The other soldier can certainly hear them talking from where he’s standing, but it's like Hank not to particularly care.

When the first comes back with the blood test, he says, "It's just a prick, like a blood sugar scan. If I can just get your finger..."

Connor takes off his glove and holds his forefinger out, winces at the pinch when his skin is punctured. He watches the soldier's face in the moment before the scanner beeps.

The rest of it...it happens too fast. Connor sees the tension pull into the soldier's jaw in the instant before the man pulls his gun and trains it on him, and he hears Hank say, "Jesus Christ," at his side before he shoves Connor behind him, putting his own body between Connor and the gun.

"Get back," the other soldier is yelling at Hank. "Get back, put your hands on the car..."

Connor hears his blood roaring in his ears, heart racing. Hank gets torn away from him, and beyond the rush of blood, Connor hears the soldier telling him to get on his knees, to put his hands behind his head...

"You're armed?" he hears the other one saying to Hank as he searches him.

"Yeah, we're fucking cops," Hank snaps.

"Your android isn't a cop."

"Jesus Christ, what the fuck are you..." Hank starts.

Connor knows he should say something to help. His hands are shaking too badly where they're clasped behind his head to get the words out.

"Can I reach for my badge?" he finally asks, mouth dry

The soldier doesn't answer him. Instead, he’s staring at the blood test. "You ever seen one of these things bleed red before?" he asks, looking up at his partner.

"Is it bleeding red?" The other soldier leaves Hank side - Connor sees his boots in his periphery where he's staring at the snow. "What the fuck?"

"I'm not an android," Connor tries to say. "I have a passport - I've worked with the DPD for five years."

"Jesus," one of the soldiers breathes. Connor hears something behind him, boots in the snow, in the moment before he barks, "Don't fucking move!" at Hank.

"Get CyberLife on the phone," the other says. "Tell them to send a tech down here and explain this shit to me." A hand closes around Connor's arm, pulling him up. "Come on. Hands behind your back."

The metal of the cuffs are cold when they clasp around Connor's wrists.

"Hey," Hank says behind him, voice sharp. "You want to tell us what's happening?"

"Your friend has..."

"My husband, prick."

The soldier sets his jaw. "Your husband's blood is scanning positive for thirium, off the charts of any red ice junkie or anything any human would ever have in their systems. We're going to take the two of you to a detention center and have CyberLife take a look at him. It's...weird that his blood is red. They usually bleed blue."

"You're going to have to give me an address to send the car to," Hank says. "Our pets are with us."

They're decent enough to do that, at least, so Hank can send Connor's car there autonomously. Not too decent not to put Hank in cuffs, too, and too decent not to throw them both in the back of their van.

“Connor,” Hank says, shifting closer to him once they’re shut inside. "You okay, baby?" 

Connor tries to answer him. Nothing comes out. 

“Look at me,” Hank says. He’s warm at Connor’s side. “This is just a misunderstanding. Everything's going to be fine."

"Yeah," Connor tries to say. The word just won't come.

Hank is handling this better than Connor is. He's pissed, and trying to figure out what happened for the tests to come back so wrong.

Maybe Connor will get there, at some point, in a few minutes or a few hours. Right now, he's just trying to get his sluggish mind to catch up, to even understand their situation at all.

"Connor, listen," Hank says in the van, "your birth parents...is there any chance you inherited some kind of birth defect, or..."

_ Or is there any chance they were red ice addicts _, Connor imagines he's trying to say, but that still wouldn't put anywhere near enough thirium in his blood to have the test run positive.

"You know I don't know anything about them," Connor says softly, staring at the floor beneath his shoes, vision swimming. His stomach is churning. He wonders if he's going to be sick, and if that might convince them he's not a machine.

"No, I know," Hank says. "Look, if nothing else, the CyberLife techs can tell them you're not...fuck. An android, or whatever."

Connor nods. His tongue is thick in his mouth, and his mind still hasn't caught up to the situation. He's still trying to understand how everything went so wrong, to make sense of the fact that he couldn't pass the thermal scans or the blood test, that there's thirium in his blood...why the fuck is there thirium in his blood?

The soldiers separate Hank and Connor when they get to the detention center, put them in different rooms. It's a tactic Connor knows - they'll run through their stories, see if they match each other, look for inconsistencies. It’s one he and Hank have used so many times.

"Do you really work for the DPD?" the soldier in Connor's room asks him.

"Yes."

"Do you have any proof of that? A pay stub, or anything?"

"A pay stub?" Connor repeats. "No, I don't carry my pay stubs with me. I have my badge that you wouldn't let me show you earlier, and my service weapon, but I don't know what to tell you if that isn't proof enough."

The soldier ignores the sharp edge in his voice. "And how long have you worked there?"

"A little over five years."

"Can anyone confirm that? Besides your friend next door."

"He already told you he's my husband, not my friend," Connor says stiffly. "Would you like my captain's number? Is that good enough?"

The soldier puts the tablet he's taking notes on down, looking at Connor and shaking his head. "You really think we've fucked this up somehow, don't you?"

Connor shrugs. "I'm not sure what to tell you. I think it's fucking up to detain us like this, yeah."

The soldier sniffs at that, and the corner of his lip curls up. "A human would have to do enough red ice to overdose three times over to get anywhere near the thirium levels you're running. I don't know what the fuck you are, but we know you're not human, so cut the shit."

Connor narrows his eyes. "I can give you my captain's number, and I can show you my badge and my passport. Beyond that, I want a lawyer. And I want to talk to my husband."

The soldier shakes his head. "Cute, but there aren't any lawyers here."

“Yeah,” Connor says, setting his jaw. “I think I'm done talking."

Hank isn't faring any better in the next room. "Are you really married to that thing?" the soldier asks him, and if he wasn't cuffed, he would haul off and hit him.

"Yes," he says instead, through gritted teeth.

"You have any proof of that? Your marriage license? Anything?"

"I don't know," Hank says stiffly. "Do you carry _ your _ marriage license around with you?"

"Look," the soldier says, "you claiming to be married to that thing and its fucked up blood are about the only thing stopping us from treating it like all the rest of them, so I would consider cooperating."

Hank raises an eyebrow. "No. I don't have our marriage license. I have pictures on my phone, if you want to see those."

The soldier doesn't, of course. "And he works at the DPD with you?"

"Yeah. Moved from Ann Arbor five years ago. We've been partners since then."

"Partners at work?"

"Yeah."

"And you're married?"

"Look," Hank says, "that's an HR violation, not a crime, so I'm not sure I see what you're getting at, or how it's relevant here."

"Just trying to assess the situation, Mr. Anderson."

He's not assessing anything, Hank knows. This is an intimidation strategy, a flex, designed to get under his skin and make him slip up.

"It's Lieutenant," Hank says, because he knows how this game works. "Actually."

The soldier glares at him, but he moves on. "Have you ever met its family?"

"_ His _ family," Hank says. "And no, I haven't. He's adopted, single mother. She disappeared after moving to London a few years ago"

"And you never thought that was odd? That he didn't have any family?"

"I don't know what the fuck to tell you. I don't really have any family either, except for him. Does that make me an android, too?"

“You didn’t fail the thermal scan and test positive for thirium in your blood,” the soldier says. “Let me tell you what this looks like. It _ looks _ like you’re trying to smuggle a very odd, likely very dangerous android across the border. That thing passes for human like nothing I’ve ever seen. I can help you, but you have to convince me why that isn’t what’s happening here.”

“_ I can help you _,” Hank repeats. “You have no idea how many times I’ve fed guys that one. I could never do shit for them, just like you’re not going to do shit for me.”

The soldier walks around the table to him and unfastens his cuffs. “There,” he says. “We’re just talking. Now tell me about the android.”

Hank rolls his shoulders once to relieve the tension, although he doesn’t want to look too grateful for the gesture, either. It’s not a kindness, only meant to look like one.

“Connor moved to Detroit five years ago, from Ann Arbor. He’s worked with the DPD as a detective that whole time. He visited his mother in London twice before she disappeared. The night he realized she was missing, he threw up in my bathroom because he was so fucking distraught.” Hank leans forward, bracing his elbows on the table. “Is this the sort of shit you want to know about him?”

The soldier ignores the jab. “And you’re sure he was in London?”

“He wasn’t at work, and he had no reason to lie.”

“Okay,” the soldier says. “Your captain at the DPD, what’s his name?”

“Jeff Fowler.”

“And he’ll verify this? That Connor has been employed there for five years?”

“He’ll verify his stellar case record, too. I don’t know why your tests are picking up thirium in his blood, but he’s one of us.”

_ He’s mine _, Hank doesn’t say.

“Okay,” the soldier says again. “I’m going to step out and make some calls, see if we can corroborate this. If it seems likely you didn’t know what he was and this was all a misunderstanding on your part, we can at least cut you loose.”

“I’m not going anywhere without him,” Hank says as he gets up.

The soldier shrugs. “You might have to.”

It’s twenty minutes before the soldier comes back, slipping his phone back into your pocket. “Okay,” he says. “You’re good to go.”

It’s not a relief. If anything, it makes things worse. “What about Connor?”

“CyberLife is sending a tech out to have a look at him, see what he is, verify that he’s one of theirs. They’ll probably take him back and run some tests on him if he is, and then...well. You know.”

Something sick rolls in Hank’s gut. “Can I talk to him?”

“I don’t think...”

“He’s my fucking husband. And he doesn’t know anything about this, no more than I do.”

“I’m quite sure he knows what he is, Lieutenant.”

Hank can’t fight the snarl off his face. “He doesn’t know anything. He would have told me if he did.”

The soldier sighs. “Five minutes, but I think you need to acquaint yourself with the possibility that these last five years with him haven’t been what you’ve thought.”

“Fuck off. I know exactly who he is.”

The soldiers do let them see each other, at least. Connor looks up when his door opens, relief flooding his face when he sees Hank walking inside. He’s still cuffed, but he still tries to move and reach for him.

Hank gets there first, pulling Connor into his shoulder and wrapping his arms around him.

“Are you okay?” he asks when Connor shudders against him.

“Yeah,” Connor whispers, and then, softer, a secret for the two of them, “I’m scared.”

“I know,” Hank says, kissing his hair. “I know, baby. We’re going to get you out of this.”

“I don’t know what they’re talking about, I swear...”

“I know,” Hank whispers. “I know you.”

“Tech’s here,” someone says down the hall, and Connor looks up at Hank with wide eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says to Hank, because he doesn’t know how much time they have, and he is. “You shouldn’t be going through this.”

Hank catches his face in his hands, kisses his forehead. “I already told you once that you can’t hurt me. We’re going to be okay. I’ve got you, I promise.”

“Lieutenant,” one of the soldiers says behind him. “We need you to leave for this.”

Hank gets up, looks at the CyberLife tech and the soldiers in the door, puts himself between them and Connor. “What are you going to do to him?”

“It’s just an examination to see what kind of programming he’s running, when he was created, that sort of thing. We’re unfamiliar with some of the features of his model, and his assignment with the DPD, and him in general,” the tech says. “But don’t worry. If he’s human, we’ll know.”

Hank doesn’t move, not until one of the soldiers starts forward to do it by force. He turns, puts a hand on Connor’s face that Connor leans into since he can’t do anything else. 

“I love you,” Hank says. “I’ll be just outside. It’s going to be okay.”

Connor swallows hard and nods.

Hank still doesn’t move until they force him to, until they lead him from the room with a hand on his arm.

And then, he waits.

Inside, the tech sits down across from Connor, retrieving a flashlight from her bag. “Hm,” she says when she looks into Connor’s eyes. “Interesting ocular unit - no sensors.” She fits her fingers under his jaw, checking his pulse. “Arrhythmic thirium pump, too, from our usual. It’s running slower - probably a more powerful unit than what we stock so it doesn’t have to run as fast. A closer simulation to a human heart.”

Connor’s stomach is churning. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what to say.

“He is an android, then?” one of the soldiers asks.

“Well, I can’t say with complete confidence until I see his chip.” The tech retrieves a syringe from her bag. “It’s a localized anesthetic, for your neck,” she tells Connor. “I’m going to make a small incision to look for a chip there.”

Connor shakes his head. “You’re not dosing me with anything.”

“Okay,” she says, shrugging and setting the syringe aside. “Your choice.”

She waves one of the soldiers over. “I’m going to need you to put your head on the table,” she tells him. “Turn your head to the left...okay. Hold him still,” she says to the soldier when he does.

It does hurt, the first cut of the scalpel into his skin, and then the feeling of the tech rooting around in the incision with her tweezers. Connor grits his teeth against it, fisting his hands where they’re cuffed behind his back. The soldier has a hand on the top of his head, pinning him down…

“Got it,” the tech says a minute later. There’s a burning sensation at the back of Connor’s neck, a sharp pinch of pain. The soldier keeps a hand on the back of Connor’s head, so he can’t see anything until the tech steps back around him, holding something tinged red in her hand. 

“What the fuck is that?” Connor asks, his stomach rolling violently. He wishes his voice didn’t tremble around the words.

“Interesting. It’s one of the old Amanda AI’s,” the tech says, studying the chip in her palm.

“Amanda,” Connor repeats. His vision is swimming. He tries to raise his head, but the soldier won’t let him.

“Yeah. CyberLife made them years ago, but it was too advanced for most androids to run. We’re just now getting to the point that we have some who can keep up with her.” She looks down at Connor, studying him. “God, what are you?”

“So you don’t know his model or his function?” the soldier asks.

“Not yet,” the tech says, putting her things back in her bags. “This isn’t the first side project of Kamski’s we’ve discovered, though.” She looks back to Connor. “Do you really think your name is Stern? Like Amanda Stern?”

“Amanda Stern is my mother,” Connor says. He’s trying to focus on breathing, in and out. He doesn’t understand this, any of it, and he can feel the blood cooling on the back of his neck, a reminder...

“Wow,” the tech says, letting out a low whistle. “This is going to be interesting.” Her eyes flick up to the soldier holding Connor down. “Can you bring him out to the truck for me?”

“Wait,” Connor tries to say, but it mostly dies away into a weak cry on his lips as they hoist him up to his feet.

Hank is still outside the door, and he tries to reach for Connor when they lead him out, to grab for him, but one of the soldiers gets between them and pushes him back. Connor can hear Hank yelling behind him, but it’s all grinding together. He looks over his shoulder at Hank, sees the desperation on his face as they lead him out, down the hall...

“Fuck, what the fuck?” Hank is yelling, still trying to shoulder past the soldier.

“Sir, you need to leave. I’m going to escort you to the door. Your car is out front with your animals. The FBI will call you if they have any further questions about this case.”

“What the fuck are you doing with him?” Hank asks. “Jesus Christ, you can’t take him.”

“He’s a CyberLife asset,” the soldier says. “They’re going to examine his coding and his features, and then I don’t know what they’ll choose to do with him. They’ll have to explain why they created an android to blend in so seamlessly at all, certainly.”

“He’s not an android!”

“I don’t know how else to tell you that he is, Lieutenant,” the soldier says. “You have to go. I’m sorry.”

It’s not negotiable. He leads Hank to the door, his hand on his gun a plain threat. “We’ll coordinate the return of your service weapon with the DPD,” he says, and then he forces Hank outside.

Sumo barks in the car when he sees him. The vehicle is still on, headlights casting a warm light on the snow. It’s warm inside from the heat running when Hank gets in, when he puts his hands on the steering wheel and holds until his knuckles go white and screams.

And then he realizes. He doesn’t even know why he thinks of it, but he realizes all at once that they never searched the car.

Desperate, Hank grabs for the door to the glovebox, pulling it open. They took his service weapon, and Connor’s, but he and Connor have been bringing Hank’s personal gun with them in the car when they travel, too. Just in case. Detroit is dangerous these days.

And Hank doesn’t think when he sees the gun there. He just grabs it, checks the chamber as he’s already getting out of the car. The soldier inside the building is gone from the door already, disappeared somewhere inside, so Hank rounds the building, pressing his back to the corner and peering around the side.

The tech’s CyberLife truck is waiting there. Hank watches as the tech and the other soldier lead Connor out the side door, as Connor trips or just goes weak in the knees and they force him up anyway, anger flaring white hot inside him.

Hank flicks the safety off, and then he rounds the corner, gun raised.

The wind is howling around them. It’s easy for Hank to sneak up on them.

He puts the barrel of his gun to the soldier’s head - the soldier is the only one who’s armed. “Don’t move,” Hank says through gritted teeth. His heart is racing, hand shaking, but he has to get them out of this. The tech is turning to look at him, eyes wide, so Hank says, “Get in the truck. Put your hands on the wheel.” She doesn’t move right away, so he barks, “Do it! Don’t fucking test me.”

“Hank,” Connor says in a small voice

“It’s okay, baby. You,” Hank says, nudging the barrel of the gun to the soldier’s head. “Uncuff him. Now.”

“You’re making a big fucking mistake, Lieutenant.”

Hank cocks his gun. “Try me, I fucking dare you. _ Uncuff him _.”

He does, turning Connor around and fitting the key into the handcuffs. When they fall to the snow, Connor takes a hurried step back, next to Hank.

“Good,” Hank says. “Put your gun on the ground, slowly, and kick it back to us.”

Connor retrieves it when the soldier does.

“Put your hands on the truck,” Hank says. “Don’t move until we’re gone.”

Connor moves at Hank’s side, around to the tech where she sits, watching with wide, fearful eyes, in the truck. “Give me the chip,” he says.

“I don’t...”

“The chip,” Connor snaps. “Whatever the fuck you took out of my neck. Give it to me.”

She passes a small, black box to him with trembling hands.

“Stay there,” Hank says to them again, grasping for Connor’s hand. “Let’s go, sweetheart.”

Connor's car is still on. When they get there, Hank pushes Sumo into the back seat in the time it takes Connor to round the vehicle and get into the passenger's side.

Hank barely waits until the door is closed to hit the gas.

They drive on manual until they hit the highway so they aren't hindered by the car's safety restrictions on speed, and they don't speak as long as they do. Connor sits with the little box gripped tight in his hands, and Hank's knuckles are white where he grasps the steering wheel.

When they do get to the highway, merged in with the rest of the bumper to bumper traffic from the evacuations, Hank switches the car back to autonomous and reaches for Connor. "Are you okay?"

"I'm..." Connor tries to start and then stops, swallowing hard as he reaches behind his neck. His fingers come away red.

"Jesus Christ, you're bleeding," Hank says. He reaches across Connor and opens the glovebox, pulling a few paper napkins out. "Here, lean forward, let me see...fuck. They really cut into you."

Connor winces when the napkin presses against the sliced skin. "They..." He feels bile rising his throat at the thought, tries to swallow that sick feeling down. "They pulled this out of my neck."

He opens the box for Hank to see the bloody chip inside.

"Jesus," Hank breathes. "What is that?"

"I don't know," Connor says. "The tech said it was an Amanda AI."

Connor looks up to see Hank furrowing his brow. He still has the napkins pressed to Connor's skin, his hand warm on the back of his neck. "Amanda like your mother?"

"I don't..." Connor starts, but then he stops himself. _ I don't know if she's my mother _, he was going to say, but instead he just says, "I don't know." He reaches up, clasping Hank by the wrist, the words rushing out of him. "I swear I don't know what they're talking about. I promise I don't..."

"Hey, look at me. I know you don't."

Connor looks at the chip on the dash between them, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. "What the fuck am I?" he whispers. "What if I'm..."

Hank pulls Connor into his arms, and Connor clings to him as a sob wracks his shoulders. "We'll figure it out," Hank says, stroking a hand through Connor's hair. "Whatever is happening, we'll figure it out. I'm with you, okay? No matter what."

Connor nods against him, sniffing. "I can't get scanned again. I don't think...god, Hank, I don’t think it was a fluke. I'm not going to pass."

"I know," Hank says. He pivots his seat back so it's facing forward, touches something on the console. When Connor looks up, he's calling Chris.

"Hey, Chris," Hank says when he picks up. "Have you and Lena crossed the border yet?"

"Yeah," Chris says over the speaker. "Jesus, are you and Connor still in Detroit?"

"We got held up by something. Listen, were they scanning people when you came through?"

"No, just at the checkpoints. It's a madhouse at the border - they don't have the time.”

Hank glances at Connor. “What are they doing? Just checking for face models?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Chris says. “Why do you ask?”

"Just wondering how late we’re going to be up tonight," Hank says. "Thanks. You and the girls stay safe."

"Yeah," Chris says. "You guys, too."

"Bye, Chris," Connor says before Hank hangs up. He looks over to him expectantly. "What are we going to do?"

Hank reaches up to rub his forehead. "Well, we just made ourselves enemies of the state, so I’d say we have to get out of the country. And this is our only chance to cross the border. If we wait any longer, our friends back there will definitely have called it in and told border control to watch for our passports coming through."

"They might have already," Connor says in a small voice. "You should just go, you and the animals...I can get a hotel and lie low for a while, maybe...They might let you through without me..."

"Hey," Hank says. "None of that. After tonight, we both have to get out of here, and we’re going together, or not at all. We're going to drive up to the border like we have the biggest fucking balls border control has ever seen, and we're going to be fine."

Connor still has tears in the corners of his eyes, but that startles a laugh out of him "I love you so much," he says softly, and Hank reaches across for him, lacing their fingers together.

"I know. I love you, too. We're going to be okay, sweetheart."

And when Hank says it, in spite of everything, Connor believes him.

Hank checks their passports, sets them on the dashboard with his badge where it will be plainly visible, and then he leans around to look at Connor’s neck again. “God, that’s deep,” he says. “We’re going to have to get butterfly bandages at least when we’re on the other side.”

He says it so confidently. Not “if”, but “when”. It doesn’t calm Connor’s nerves entirely, but it helps.

Connor sits with the chip in his lap, staring at it until Hank reaches over and gently takes it from him, shutting the box.

“I know you’re scared,” Hank says, “but we can’t do anything about that until we get across and find somewhere to stay for the night. Try not to let your mind run, okay?”

Connor forces himself to nod. He knows Hank is scared, too, that Hank is only acting confident because this is what they do, because when one of them needs the other they figure out how to shove their shit aside and be brave, even if they aren’t.

He knows Hank’s mind is running through what they know, too, trying to figure it out. He can see it. But Connor forces himself to do what Hank says, breathes in deep and holds it and lets it out, counting the seconds as he does to distract himself.

They get to the border a few minutes later. As they wait in the line of cars, Hank passes Connor one of the guns. “Just...use your discretion,” he says. “We might need it.”

Connor nods and tucks it between the door and his seat, keeping a hand on it.

When they finally pull up to the station, Hank hands the officer their passports. “Busy night for you guys, huh?” he asks genially while the officer looks at them. He’s doing it again, making himself unassuming, putting the other person at ease by design.

“Yeah,” the officer says, peering into the car. “Real shit show. Just the dog with you?”

“There’s a cat in the carrier, too,” Hank says. Connor hands him the file he put together with their vaccination records, and Hank passes them out to the officer.

He looks at them a moment, then hands everything back. “Okay. Enjoy your stay - sorry for the circumstances.”

“Have a good night,” Hank says. He squeezes Connor’s hand as they pull away, and Connor hears him let out the breath only he knew Hank was holding.

“Okay,” Hank says. “Let’s get to an ATM, get as much cash out as we can in case they freeze our accounts. Better not to leave a paper trail with our cards, anyway. And then we’ll find somewhere to stay.”

A notification dings on the car console - a text from Jeff Fowler on Hank’s phone. Connor glances at Hank, then taps the screen to open it.

“Do you want to explain to me why I got a call earlier asking me to vouch for the steady employment of ‘your husband Connor Stern’?” it says.

Connor slouches back in his seat. “Our lives are over,” he says glumly, but honestly, it feels so much better to be upset about work than it does about everything else.

“Our lives are in this car, not back there,” Hank says.

Connor reaches up and rubs his eye with the heel of his hand when they start burning with tears again. “I guess...I wasn’t going home to work at the DPD anymore, anyway. Not after tonight. So...it doesn’t matter.”

“No,” Hank says softly. “I guess not.”

Connor reaches for the console and runs a search for the nearest bank, then flips the car to autonomous. “I need you to hold me,” he says, but Hank is already moving before he gets the words out, pulling him into his arms.

They stay like that until they get to the bank, and Connor is glad all over again for the way Hank envelopes him, wrapping him up so he floods his senses and drowns the rest out.

They empty the daily maximum from Hank's account, and then do the same with Connor's. They never joined their accounts after the wedding because of payroll, and that works in their favor now, even if little else about tonight has gone their way.

(Connor supposes he should just be grateful they're across the border and together, in one piece. It's just difficult not to fixate on what's gone wrong.)

"Okay," Hank says when they pull away from the ATM. Connor appreciates how level-headed he's being, how he keeps trying to talk this out and walk Connor through what they're going to do, because the gears in Connor's mind are grinding far too loudly for him to work through it on his own. "If those guys back there were smart," Hank says, "they would have scanned our passport photos so they could distribute them if they needed to. Same with our plates. But they're military, not cops, and they don't do this sort of shit every day, so if we're lucky, they weren't smart at all, and we have a few days before our pictures are getting broadcast all over Canada."

"That helps us now. What about in a few days?"

Hank shakes his head. "We've got to take this one step at a time, baby. I think we'll be okay for now, and we'll just have to figure out the rest of it when it comes."

They stop at a drug store, and Connor walks Sumo while Hank goes in. He comes back out with bandages, and a candy bar he passes to Connor.

"Chocolate helps, right?" he asks, and Connor takes it with a dim smile.

"Yeah." He doesn't have any appetite, but he tears it open and forces himself to take a bite. "It does."

They drive as long as they can, figuring the further away they are from the border, the better. Around one in the morning, when they're both worn out and the animals are desperate to get out of the car, they go through a drive through for food and find a dingy roadside motel that lets them book a room with cash.

Connor sets up the temporary litter box he bought for Tabby that morning - and fuck, it feels like forever ago that his only worry was the impending evacuation and getting ready for it - and lets the cat out of his crate while Hank feeds Sumo.

Hank walks Sumo one more time when he’s done eating, and Connor sits in the room alone, staring at the chip where he set it on the bedside table, and he lets the thoughts he’s been desperately trying to contain run loose.

Because here's the thing, what he's been working through the entire drive. If he trusts that what the tech said was true, that the chip was in his neck - and he believes he can trust that, because no one has any particular reason to orchestrate all of this to get rid of him, although he's considered that possibility, too - and that the chip is some sort of AI that presumably interacts with his own mind...can he trust anything he remembers, even the things he's certain he experienced?

And here's where that leads him. The AI is named after Amanda Stern. He knows his mother worked at CyberLife. When she disappeared, he and Hank ran through her entire history in the US - employment, places of residence, and so on. They know she moved in 2033, and because Connor was sure she was in London, because he went there to visit her multiple times, they never questioned that piece of the puzzle.

There was...well, fuck, there was no reason to think they weren't being thorough by not investigating other possibilities when Connor _ knew _ she was in London.

But the consulate said there was no record of Amanda Stern moving to Britain. Everything about their investigation indicated that she was never there at all. Connor's own testimony was the only thing placing her there.

And if Connor's own testimony is worth jack shit...well. She could be anywhere.

He's afraid to look, because it will mean the things he remembers plainly are false, planted there by something...but he has to consider the possibility that Amanda moved somewhere else when she left the country in 2033.

Somewhere close.

By the time Hank returns from their walk, Connor has found her. It takes some digging - it's clear Amanda tries not to maintain a digital footprint - but Connor has some experience hunting people down, and he doesn’t find it difficult to track Amanda to a Canadian address.

It only took him ten minutes. They just never looked. They didn’t think they needed to.

"Hey," Hank says as he kicks his shoes off by the door. Sumo comes barreling over to Connor, forcing his nose under Connor's arm. "You okay?"

Connor is sure he's sheet pale and that he looks unsettled and shaken, but that's just the way tonight is going to go.

"I'm..." he tries to start, although his voice comes out weak, and it dies on a shuddering breath. He tries again as Hank comes over to him. "Some of the things I remember aren't real." He passes Hank the laptop, where he's looking at Amanda's address.

"Fuck," Hank says. "You're sure this is her?"

"Yeah," Connor says softly. "It's her. I just...someone made me think something else was real." He doubles over, pushing a hand through his hair. He's crying again. He can't help it. "I don't...I mean, fuck. I don't know what about my life is real, Hank. I remember being in London with her, but I never was. It's not...it can't just be this that isn't real."

Hank wraps his arms around him, pulls Connor back against him. "I'm real," he says against the shell of Connor's ear. He fishes for something in his pocket, and then hands Connor his phone. The screen is on, and there's a picture from their wedding set as his background. "That was real."

Connor sniffs, reaching up to wipe his eye. "This shouldn't be your background. Anyone at the DPD could see it."

"I set it after we left Detroit," Hank says with a small smile, "and we got found out anyway, so it doesn't really matter." He reaches up, smoothing that flyaway lock of hair back from Connor's forehead. "I know this is so scary, but we're going to figure this out. And some things..." He takes Connor's hand, presses Connor's wedding ring into his skin in the way that Connor likes, the way that grounds him. "Some things were so fucking real, sweetheart."

Connor nods, swallows hard, looks back at his laptop. "I want to talk to her. I don't...I'm not sure she's even my mother, but I think she can help. If that AI was named after her, she has to know something about it. And I just...I trust her. I don't know if I should, especially if it's all based on something that didn't even happen, but I do."

Hank considers it a moment, and then he says, "Okay. Then we'll find her."

Connor nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. He’s still drawn back against Hank’s chest, and it’s an awkward angle, but he stays there anyway, relaxing into him, letting Hank hold him up. He’s too worn out and he has too little left in him to sob the way he wants to. All that comes out of him are these broken, shuddering breaths.

Connor doesn’t say it out loud, the thing he’s thinking, the one he knows Hank is, too.

He doesn’t say that if all this is true - the chip in his neck, the thirium in his blood, the memories of things that never happened - that he can’t be human.

He doesn’t give voice to any of the questions swirling in his head - how long has he been alive, how did he have the documentation for a passport in the first place if he isn’t human, who put so much effort into making him look and act human, right down to making him believe the lie, just to turn him loose in Detroit?

Has he even been turned loose, or is someone watching him right now? Is there something else inside him he doesn’t know about - a tracker, or a camera, something filming all of this and sending it god only knows where?

That frightens him badly enough that he finds the words for it. “Hank,” Connor says softly, “what if I’m dangerous?”

“You’re not,” Hank says, firm and decisive. “You just aren’t.”

“But what if I’m not even making my own decisions? I thought I was in London with my mom, and I was either there with someone else, or someplace else entirely. What if that happens again, where I think I’m doing something...I mean, fuck, what if I was doing something awful then?”

“Connor,” Hank says. “I’ve lived with you for two and a half years. We’ve worked together almost every day. There’s hardly been a thing you’ve done in that time that I’m not aware of and that I haven’t seen, too.”

Connor wipes his eyes. “Did you take me to that coffee shop around the block from the DPD on my first day? Was that real?”

Hank holds him tighter, kisses his hair. “Yeah. I bought you one of those fruity iced teas you like.”

“And we’ve been taking turns buying breakfast since. That’s real, too?”

“Yeah,” Hank says. Connor can hear the fondness in his voice. “That’s our thing.”

“And I go out for drinks with Chris and Tina on the weekends. You’re sure that’s where I go?”

“Chris and Tina have both talked to me about it, yeah. I know that’s where you are.”

Connor thinks back over the years he’s known Hank, trying to think of where he’s gone without him. He reaches for Hank’s arm where it’s wrapped around him, holding on to him. “God,” he says softly. “You’re my lifeline, I think.”

“That’s okay,” Hank says. “You’ve been mine before. I can be yours now.”

Connor tries to think of what he knows about Amanda, every conversation he ever had with her, anything that was said between them. If she was only ever a chip in his neck, then all those things weren’t real, and that’s where to start unraveling this.

“She was trying to tell me something,” Connor says as he thinks it through. “The last time I talked to her. She said she needed to tell me something, and we got cut off, but that wasn’t that uncommon...shit, I just thought it was a bad connection because it was an international call, you know? But if she’s that chip, and she’s designed to talk to me for whatever reason, she hasn’t been doing that for the last three years.” Connor sits up to look at Hank. “Something...god, _ something _ happened that last time we talked. I was telling her about you.” Connor shakes his head, trying to remember. “The first time I told her about you, we got cut off, too. Fuck, what if that wasn’t a coincidence, or a bad connection? What if it was...” Connor can’t bring himself to say it, but Hank is following him anyway.

“Broken programming, like we’ve seen before,” he finishes. “Deviant behavior.”

Connor looks at him with wide eyes. “Right.”

“Yeah,” Hank says softly. “That tracks.”

They don’t talk about it after that. They’ve gone about as far as they can without help, and it’s late, and they’re so fucking tired. Hank reaches for the butterfly bandages he bought earlier, turns Connor around and cleans the incision on his neck before he binds it as best he can with what they have.

They eat their drive-thru food, even if it is cold by now, and they get into bed, although they lie there with the lights and television on, trying to distract themselves. Connor presses in close to Hank, because he’s warm and solid and the thin cotton of his t-shirt feels soft and real under his fingers.

It’s the only way he knows how to ground himself.

Connor slips a hand under Hank’s shirt, idly running his fingers through the hair on his stomach and his chest. He doesn’t remember making the decision to do that any more than he does the decision to twist and kiss his neck, to latch onto his pulse point and suck...

He doesn’t know what he’s doing. Trying to feel real, maybe. Trying to feel like something he knows is true.

Maybe he’s just trying to feel alive at all.

He doesn’t know if Hank is there with him. They’ve been through hell and back tonight, and Hank could tell him he’s too tired and Connor would lay off without a second thought. Sometimes they deal with their shit in the same way, and sometimes they don’t, and that’s okay.

But the reaction Connor gets instead is an arm tightening around his shoulder, a small groan from somewhere in deep in Hank’s chest that rumbles through him in turn, and that’s all Connor needs to push himself up and swing a leg over Hank’s hips.

“I love you,” he whispers, because it’s the truth, and hell, maybe it’s the only real truth he’s ever known.

Hank has his arms around Connor’s waist, tugging him close. Connor can feel the length of Hank’s cock hardening against his thigh, and he grinds down on it, breathing hot against his mouth.

“I love you too, baby,” Hank says against him, and Connor tucks his head to Hank’s shoulder and whimpers, the last vestiges of his grief for everything he’s lost, yes, but also evidence of how overcome he is by this, always.

Hank pulls Connor’s shirt over his head, traces a thumb over his nipple and catches it in his mouth when it hardens. “You’re so gorgeous,” Hank says against his skin, and Connor ducks his head, his lips grazing Hank’s hair, the muscles in his stomach clenching hard around the desire.

Connor takes Hank’s chin in his hand and tips his head back, meeting his eyes. “I want you,” he whispers. He puts his hands on Hank’s cheeks, kisses his forehead. “I want you to fuck me.” He feels Hank hum against him in response. “There’s lube in my suitcase.”

Hank doesn’t tease him for coming prepared. He doesn’t say anything, because he knows how this goes, what Connor sometimes needs, how he gets so in his own head sometimes that he needs his own chaotic thoughts driven out of him.

Hank knows. Connor only has to ask for it.

Connor tugs his sweatpants off under the covers while Hank gets up to root through their things, pulling the covers up over himself, shivering against the cold and immediately missing Hank’s warmth at his side.

“Front pocket,” he says, voice small in the dark room.

Hank slips back under the covers a moment later, sliding a hand up Connor’s leg and kissing him.

“Turn over,” he says, and Connor can’t do it fast enough.

Hank's hand is warm on Connor's back, his weight comfortingly solid where he's pressed against Connor's side. "Hey," he says, running his hand up Connor's spine, squeezing his shoulder. "Relax, okay?"

Connor tries to make himself loose and pliant, to sink into the bed. It doesn't come easy, not with all the tension in him, how coiled tight he's been all evening. He crosses his arms above his head, leans his head against his forearms and nods. "Help me," he whispers.

Hank leans over him to kiss the curve of his shoulder, and it feels so good, his weight over him, pressing him into the mattress, that Connor almost wants to tell him to just stay there like that, to surround him so Connor can't think of anything else.

Hank squeezes his shoulder again, and then Connor hears the lid of the bottle click open, feels Hank's slick fingers between his legs a moment later, thumb teasing over his entrance.

Connor has two moods with Hank's teasing, and they are impatient and _ more _ impatient. He tries to kick him, but all that does is open his legs further to give Hank better access. Hank pulls the covers aside far enough to see him, and Connor whines high in his throat when Hank thumbs him open, fingers teasing around his rim, and then slipping into him.

Connor rocks back into him, keening at the stretch. He's impatient, trying to work his hips back into it, but Hank puts his other hand on his lower back, stilling him. Connor knows this game, the one where he's desperate to move quickly so he can get Hank inside him and Hank is determined to make him wait.

"Relax," Hank says, voice a low rumble in Connor's ear.

"Hank," Connor says, and he's ready to say that he needs to get fucked out of his mind, out of his own head and thoughts, that he needs Hank to move the fuck along, but then Hank presses his fingers hard against his inner walls, stealing the breath out of him.

"Fuck," Connor whispers. Hank noses against his hairline, chuckling in his ear.

"Good?"

"Yes," Connor says weakly. There are tears pricking the corners of his eyes.

"You want to come like this?"

Connor turns his head where it's resting on his arms to give Hank an offended look. "I told you I wanted you to fuck me," he says, as if Hank were very dim.

Hank pulls his fingers back, thrusts in, presses against him again in a way that has Connor's mouth falling open. "Sweetheart," he says, tracing a thumb over Connor's lower lip, "we can do both."

Hank doesn't often tell Connor how things are going to go. When he does, it's only because he sees better than Connor does what he needs.

And Connor is always grateful for it.

He darts his tongue out to taste the pad of Hank's thumb, a low moan falling from his lips as he nods.

"Okay," he whispers. "Okay. Do whatever you want."

Hank pulls him in and kisses his forehead. "Good," he says, and Connor hums against him.

Hank knows him well enough that he knows how to get him there, how to build it up until Connor is twisting his fingers in the sheets, rocking back into Hank's fingers. Hank stretches out beside him, getting an arm around Connor's chest and pulling him back onto his side against him, plucking at one of his nipples until Connor's twists and gently bites into the meat of Hank's arm.

Hank is good at reading him, knows when he's close. He lets Connor twist his hips enough that he can get friction against his cock, and it's two hard thrusts of Hank's fingers before Connor is coming with a weak sob, panting against Hank's arm where his head is propped up.

Hank runs his hand up Connor's side, kisses the curve of his neck. His fingers are still inside him. "You good?"

"Yeah," Connor says softly. "Give me a minute."

Hank slowly pulls his fingers free, turning Connor onto his belly so he can rub a hand up his back. "Take your time, honey."

Connor's mind is still running with thoughts he's trying to avoid, but they're hazier, at least. He drifts for a moment, concentrating on Hank's hand on his back

Connor used to love this, the way Hank always idly looks at him when they're lying together afterwards, the way he runs his fingers over Connor's skin like he's exploring and mapping him, the quiet appreciation in the way Hank watches him. It's the first thing Hank learned about him, that Connor likes to be looked at, but tonight it brings that awful lump rising back into his throat, because he's something different than what he thought he was, and Hank's eyes on him just make that knowledge all the sharper.

Connor twists, shuffling up onto his elbows and knees. "Come on," he says, and if it comes out a touch short, Hank doesn't complain.

Hank shifts beside him, pulling his shirt over his head and stripping out of his pants before he gets to his knees behind Connor, settling a hand between his shoulder blades and teasing his cock over the cleft of Connor's ass.

Connor turns his head to look at Hank over his shoulder. He doesn't say anything, but he does watch Hank's face as he sinks into him.

Hank leans over him, kissing his temple, and Connor closes his eyes, pressing into the contact. Connor pushes off his elbows when Hank pulls back and thrusts into him again, rearing up against Hank's chest and catching a hand in Hank's hair, turning his forehead against Hank's cheek and rolling his hips back against him

"Hank," he whispers. "Hard, okay?"

_ Hard enough that I can't think straight, hard enough that I feel it, hard enough that I know it's real, _Connor doesn't say, but it's what he means, and Hank seems to know it.

"Yeah," he says, pulling out and thrusting back into him forcefully enough that it drives Connor forward, that he has to brace his hands on the headboard for leverage. Hank follows him, chest warm against Connor's back, catching Connor chin in his hand and turning his head to kiss him. "I've got you, baby."

Hank wraps one arm tight around Connor’s belly, using the hold to anchor himself as he thrusts into him, and he puts his other hand on top of Connor’s where he’s grasping the headboard. Through his haze, Connor looks at their wedding rings against one another.

And the noises spilling from Connor’s lips as Hank fucks into him, they’re somewhere between a sigh and a moan, something pulled out from inside him beyond his volition when Hank’s strokes hit deep inside him. Hank’s mouth is at Connor’s hairline, lips parted in what isn’t quite a kiss so much as it is a desperate sort of contact, his breath hot over Connor’s skin.

“Fuck, honey,” Hank groans against him. “You feel so good.”

Connor rolls back into him on a hard thrust, legs straining with it. With the way Hank is leaning against him, Connor is the one holding them up where he’s braced against the headboard, and he doesn’t last long with the way Hank is fucking into him before his arms give out.

He’s too tired to fight it when he folds. He turns his head, pressing his cheek to his pillow as Hank drives him into the mattress, humming when Hank leans over him and pushes his hair back from his forehead.

“Hank,” Connor whispers into the sheets, “tell me I’m yours.” Because so much of tonight fucked with him, but the worst part was being told he was a CyberLife asset, that his life was theirs.

Hank rocks into him, and it’s gentler this time. He puts his hand over Connor’s and winds their fingers together. “Yeah,” he says, his ragged, ruined voice making Connor’s stomach clench around hot desire. “You’re mine. And I’m yours.”

He stills inside him, making Connor whine, and pulls Connor up to him, kissing his temple. “Come here, sweetheart.” He pulls free of him, squeezing Connor’s hand when he does. Connor is fucked out enough that it takes a moment for him to get his limbs moving, for him to push himself up to see Hank propping a pillow on the headboard and settling back against it.

Hank reaches for him, kissing him slow and deep before he turns him and pulls Connor into his lap, back to chest.

“My hip isn’t having it,” Hank says, rocking his cock into the cleft of Connor’s ass. Connor squirms against him - regardless of any prior orgasm Hank tore out of him, his cock is hard where it rests against his belly. Hank reaches for it, stroking his thumb over the head. “You going to come again?”

Connor throws a heated look over his shoulder, catching the intense blue of Hank’s gaze. “Not if you don’t get back inside me.”

Hank huffs a laugh at that. “And if I do?”

Connor lies back against him, catching a hand in Hank’s hair and whispering low in his ear, “Yeah. You know I am.”

He kisses Hank’s cheek, moaning against him when Hank teases his cock over his entrance again and then slips home.

Hank doesn’t thrust into him in this position so much as he rocks inside him, so it isn’t hard in the way Connor asked for, but it is deep, and it does make him feel full, not just the way he’s seated on Hank’s cock, but the way Hank’s arms are wrapped around him, the way his body envelopes Connor’s where he lies back against him.

Hank looks over Cononr’s shoulder, wraps his fingers in a loose grip around Connor’s cock, making him whine and turn his forehead into the crook of Hank’s neck.

“Fuck, look at you,” Hank mutters appreciatively. He wraps an arm around Connor’s belly, pulls him down firmly when he rolls his hips up to meet him.

Connor’s just about past coherency, and he never talks through this the same way Hank does anyway. He would rather listen to Hank’s voice, to the way it goes rough and gravelly, to know he did that to him, than anything else, so he closes his eyes and sighs against him where he’s tucked back against his neck, running his fingernails over Hank’s scalp where his hand is still buried in his hair.

Hank takes Connor’s chin in his hand, gently turning his head so he’s facing the corner of the room.

And fuck, Connor forgot about the mirror there, and he didn’t realize when Hank moved them that he was arranging them in a specific way for a reason, but when he sees it, their reflections there, it tugs a weak sob out of him.

They’ve done this before - it’s something Connor likes, to see the way Hank surrounds him, although he isn’t much feeling like looking at himself right now, not in the wake of everything, not when he can’t look at himself without thinking of how he doesn’t quite know what he is.

He tries to turn his head back into Hank’s neck, but Hank catches him by the jaw and holds him gently where he is.

“Look at yourself, baby,” Hank says, voice soft in Connor’s ear as he rocks into him again. “Look at how alive you are. Look at how fucking perfect...”

Connor sees it, the way Hank’s fingers map the constellation of freckles over his chest and the flush rising under them from the exertion. He sees the strain in his muscles, and his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, and the way his sides heave with his breath.

Mostly what he sees, though, is the way Hank is holding on to him like he needs him, the way Hank is looking at him, how it’s familiar and unchanged.

Connor comes when Hank strokes the hand wrapped around his cock down again, pleasure wrung out of him with a weak cry, and he watches himself paint his belly in the mirror.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Hank says in his ear, like he’s proud of him, like Connor has done something remarkable. “There you go.”

Connor is just about done for, but when he goes limp and pliant against Hank’s chest, he does turn his head and bite into the lobe of his ear.

“I love you so much,” he whispers, voice at once frantic and small. “I love you so fucking much, Hank. Come for me.”

And Hank does, because he always gives Connor what he needs.

They lie there for a long time, breathing hard against each other, breathing in tandem. When they do move, they don’t move much. Hank slips a little bit lower on the bed, wraps his arms around Connor so he keeps him pressed against him when he pivots them onto their sides.

It occurs to Connor through a sleepy haze that Hank has been behind him this entire time, looking at that incision on his neck and inescapable proof of what he is, and that it changed _ nothing _.

He winds their fingers together when he realizes it, kissing the back of Hank’s hand.

He doesn’t mention it. He doesn’t have to.

Hank smoothes Connor’s hair back from his forehead and kisses his shoulder. “Go to sleep,” he whispers.

And Connor does.

* * *

When Connor wakes up in the morning, there’s pale sunlight streaming through the curtains, and Hank isn’t beside him, although he pulled the covers high over Connor’s shoulders before he got up. Connor blinks blearily, realizes that Sumo has taken Hank’s place beside him, and finds his folded clothes waiting on the bedside table for him.

Connor is grateful for it. It’s colder here than it is in Detroit.

He lifts his head, looking around the room. “Hank?”

“I’m here, baby,” Hank says from the bathroom. He emerges a moment later, hair wet from his shower, and sits on the edge of the bed, in the empty space left by the bend of Connor’s body as he lies on his side. He puts a hand on Connor’s cheek, and Connor turns into it, kissing his palm. “You sleep okay?” Hank asks.

“I think I had to, after...you know. All of that.”

Hank smiles at that. “You want to get ready to go? We only have a few minutes until checkout.”

Connor checks the clock and realizes he’s right. “You didn’t have to let me sleep so late.”

“You needed it,” Hank says. “And we might as well rest now, while we can. Once we’re on the road we can get breakfast. We, uh, probably need some burner phones, too.”

“Yeah, we do,” Connor says. The thought already occurred to him yesterday, and probably to Hank too, but there was only so much they could do last night.

Hank bends to kiss his forehead. “Get dressed, baby.”

Connor pulls his clothes on quickly when Hank returns to the bathroom, and then he sits in the chair in the corner of the room, looking through his phone while he can. There’s a voicemail from Jeff that he would be too afraid to check if he didn’t know he’ll be ditching the phone and won’t have a chance to later.

“Hey, Connor,” Jeff’s voice says when Connor presses ‘play’. “Look, there’s obviously a lot of shit with you and Hank that we’re going to have to sort through when we all get home. I’m really fucking disappointed in both of you for lying, and for not knowing better, but we’ll deal with that later. I just wanted to say the rest of this is bullshit, what they’re trying to pin on you. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with their scanners, but you can’t be an android, and I told them that much. It’ll work out, okay? Let me know if I can help.”

There are multiple texts from Chris, too. “Hey, what the fuck, man?” the first one says. “Jeff gave some guy from the army my number to vouch for you or something, and he called trying to say you’re an android and asking all kinds of questions about you? Said you and Hank held them up and that if I saw you I needed to call them? What the fuck is happening? I’m not going to tell them anything, but fucking CALL ME.”

The second one says, “Connor, seriously. I’m freaked out and worried about you and Hank. Let me know you’re okay.”

Connor sighs, getting up and putting food down for Sumo. Tabby is hiding under the bed, and Connor tries to coax him out, but he won’t come. Connor sits there on the floor, looking at the cat sadly. He’s still there when Hank comes out of the bathroom. “Hey, you okay?” Hank asks.

“Chris was staying with family maybe an hour from here,” Connor says. He draws his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs. “I think we need to leave Tabby with him. We can’t drag him from hotel to hotel with us.”

Hank sits down beside him, looking at the cat. “You okay trusting Chris?”

“Yeah,” Connor says quickly. He’s sure about that, if nothing else. “I trust him. It’s just...” He nods at Tabby. “He doesn’t like the car, and he’s too old for this.”

“Okay.” Hank grasps Connor’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “We’ll stop there before we head to Amanda’s, then.”

Connor knows it’s the fair thing to do, but his cat was his first friend in Detroit, and he’s sorry to say goodbye to him for any amount of time. But it’s the right thing, even if it’s the hard thing. And it will give him a chance to explain to Chris, or try to.

They pack their things back into the car and load in. Connor sits in the passenger’s side, his forehead propped against the window pane, looking at the snowy trees passing them by.

“How much do you want to tell him?” Hank asks as they start off. They have the car driving autonomously - it’s safer in the snow - so Hank hand is free to find Connor’s.

“I don’t know,” Connor admits. “He was sympathetic to the deviants, too.”

“Yeah, he was,” Hank says.

“I don’t want to lie to him.” Connor doesn’t say that he so desperately wants to know it’s more than just him and Hank who are unchanged by this, that he wants to be sure he hasn’t lost everything, but that’s the root of it, deep down

Hank doesn’t argue. He squeezes Connor’s hand and says, “Okay”

When they get the burner phones, Connor calls Chris. He’s relieved when he picks up on the first ring. “Hey, Chris,” Connor starts to say, but Chris interrupts him before he can even finish.

“Holy fuck, Con,” he says. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, we’re alright,” Connor says. “Listen, can you do me a favor? I was hoping...I need someone to watch my cat. He can’t come with us. I just...I’m not sure when we’re going to be able to stop somewhere more permanently, you know? And until we have someplace like that, it’s not fair to drag him with us.”

“Okay,” Chris says. “Yeah. Bring him by. Do you have our address?”

“Can you text it to me when we hang up?”

“Yeah,” Chris says. “Is it true? About what Hank did? And...”

_ And about you _, Connor imagines he’s trying to say. He doesn’t blame him for not knowing how.

“It’s...really complicated,” Connor says. “Can we just explain when we get there? I swear I’ve never lied to you, about anything.”

“I don’t think you did,” Chris says. “They said...when they called me, they said you claimed you didn’t know.”

“I didn’t,” Connor says, voice cracking. He blinks, trying to clear the tears burning his eyes. “Listen, Chris...I have to go, okay? I’ll see you soon. I’m...I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” Chris says softly. “Look, we’re okay, alright? Just...whatever happened. We’re okay. I love you, man.” Connor pulls the phone away from his mouth, raises his hand to catch the dry sob that works its way out of him. “Con?” Chris says through the speaker.

“Yeah,” Connor says weakly. “Thanks. We’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Okay. Bye, Con. Stay safe.”

Connor ends the call as quickly as he can, setting the phone aside and slumping back in his seat, dragging his hands over his face. “I’m okay,” he says, although Hank didn’t ask.

“You’re not,” Hank says. He pulls Connor over into his lap, lets Connor press his face into the crook of his neck.

“No,” Connor whispers against him. “I’m not.”

His phone dings, and Hank reaches for it, tapping the address Chris sent them into the console.

Chris and his family are staying with his wife’s parents, which makes Hank nervous, and Connor, too. They can trust Chris, and Lena, but they don’t know Lena’s parents, and Hank doesn’t entirely like the gamble.

Either way, Connor is relieved when Chris meets them outside as they pull into the driveway. “I didn’t know if you’d want to come in,” he says when Connor gets out of the car.

“This is...probably better,” Connor says softly. Hank rounds the front of the car, reaching out to shake Chris’ hand. “Have you told them anything?”

“Just that we need to watch a friend’s cat for a while,” Chris says. “I’ll explain the rest of it to Lena later, if that’s okay.”

Connor nods, swallowing hard. “Yeah, that’s fine. Is Zoe okay?”

“She’s happy to see Grandma and Grandpa, and she doesn’t really know anything else.” Chris looks him over, a sad glint in his eye. “It’s true, isn’t it? They said you failed both scans...”

“Yeah,” Connor says weakly. Hank puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezes gently. “Yeah, I, uh. I think it’s true.”

“Fuck, man.” Chris pulls Connor into his arms, patting his back. “Jesus, I’m so fucking sorry. This is...god, it’s so fucked up. What are you going to do?”

“Try to get some answers,” Hank says. “It’s about all we can do.”

Connor retrieves Tabby’s carrier and the bag with his things from the back of the car and passes them to Chris. “There’s a note with instructions in the bag,” he says. He reaches his fingers between the bars of the crate, lets Tabby rub over them once before he pulls away. “We’ll get him back from you when we can. Thanks for...you know. Everything.”

Chris claps him on the shoulder and gives him a sad smile. “Take care, man. Keep in touch, if you can. I’m not trying to say goodbye to you...it’s going to be okay, and we’ll see each other again...but I want you to know you’ve been a good friend. You know. Just in case.”

“You have, too,” Connor says. He manages a weak smile before he retreats to the car to wipe his eyes. Hank hugs Chris before he joins him.

While they back out of the driveway, Connor watches with glassy eyes as Chris and Tabby disappear back inside the house. He sees a fire in the living room when the door opens, and a Christmas tree inside, and fuck, he just wants to go home.

He checks his phone and puts the address he found for Amanda Stern into the console instead. It’s a long drive, most of the day, but they’ll be there that evening.

Connor tries not to wonder whether that was the last time he’ll ever see his cat, or Chris.

He slips his hand into Hank’s, looks over at him and at Sumo in the rear view mirror, at the things he still has instead of what he’s lost.

"I should call Jeff," Hank says once they're back on the highway. "Before we get rid of our phones."

Connor is sitting in his seat looking through their wedding photos on his phone - he tells himself he's trying to pick one for his background now that they don't have to worry about keeping it secret, but mostly he's just looking on them because he needs to force himself to think about _ something _ good.

Still, he looks up immediately, eyes wide, when Hank says it. "Jeff," he repeats. "You want to call Jeff?"

"Yeah," Hank says. "I'm not going to tell him anything about what we’re doing. I don't want to ask him to lie for us...it's just easier if he doesn't know. But I think I need to apologize for both of us, and let him know we're okay, at least."

Connor has never had the same sort of relationship with Jeff that Hank has. Jeff is a good captain, and someone Connor respects, but he's always been resolutely Connor's boss, and not his friend.

He forgets sometimes that isn't true for Hank, that they went through academy together and used to be close, that the relationship may have changed a bit when Jeff was promoted, but that they still are, in some ways.

"I won't if you don't want me to," Hank says when Connor doesn't answer.

"No," Connor says quickly. He got to say goodbye to his friend, to at least try to explain himself and make things right. Hank deserves the same. "No, it's okay. You can."

Hank squeezes Connor's hand and dials from the console. It barely rings once before Jeff picks up. "Hank? Hank, what the fuck..."

"Hey, Jeff," Hank says. "Listen, I can't talk long. I just wanted to let you know we're okay."

"What, you and your husband?" Jeff asks dryly. "I thought you had lied to them, maybe, to protect Connor or something. Checked public records, though. How was Niagara Falls?"

Hank snorts at that. "Real nice."

Despite everything, Jeff laughs, too. "You know I have to fire you. You can't fuck your detectives, Lieutenant."

"It was just the one," Hank says, "but I know. I don't think I'm coming home though, Jeff."

"Because of Connor?"

"Yeah. I'm just...he's my life now, you know?"

Jeff sighs. "You think he's really an android? They were sure when they called, but I just...really can't believe it."

Hank looks at Connor. "I don't think it matters."

"Maybe it doesn't. I guess it's true too that you threatened a military official at gunpoint to stop CyberLife from taking him." He barely sounds surprised.

"Yeah. That happened, too."

"Hey," Jeff says, "no one ever said you didn't have balls. I suppose you aren't going to tell me where you're going?"

"I'd rather not put you in that position," Hank says. "You've worked hard to get where you are. It's easier if you just don't know anything."

"Yeah, it is. Listen, Hank, maybe it's a weird thing to say, given the circumstances, but...I'm happy for you. It's good...to love someone that much. Or something. I don't know."

"Thanks, Jeff. I'll talk to you when I can?"

"Yeah. Take care, Anderson."

Hank hangs up, and Connor picks the picture of the two of them in front of the waterfall with Sumo, Hank whispering something in his ear that made him laugh. He picks it because there's so much beauty around them, and he's still looking at Hank like he's the brightest thing there is to see.

Connor resists the urge to reach back and touch the incision on his neck. He spins his wedding ring on his finger instead.

They stop later that afternoon to feed Sumo, and for something between lunch and dinner at a diner off the highway. Connor stares at his food when it comes. Eating is difficult since...well. It makes him wonder why he can if he isn’t human, and then some hopeful voice in his head will whisper that maybe all of this is still just a misunderstanding somehow - he has a passport, after all, and how did he get that if he isn’t a US citizen? - and that’s all it takes to start that spiral in his mind again.

Hank looks at him over his coffee. “What are you thinking about?”

Connor shakes his head, forcing himself to lift his sandwich and take a bite of it. “The same things.”

“We’ll get answers, Con.”

“I know,” Connor says. But that’s a problem, too, something he isn’t sure he’s brave enough for. If he knocks on Amanda’s door, and she knows him as someone other than her son, or she doesn’t know him at all...there’s no coming back from that, no optimism and no pretending.

Connor doesn’t say it, but Hank still sees it on his face, because he reaches for his hand. “Connor...if this is real, we’ll figure it out. I know it’s going to hurt, baby, but there’s a revolution underway in Detroit that might change things, and if nothing else, I’ll hide up here with you forever if that’s all we can do.”

Connor manages a dim smile. “We’ll run out of money.”

“Richer or poorer, sweetheart.”

Connor snorts. “Poorer might be a cardboard box on the streets.”

“The skies are clearer up here,” Hank says with a shrug. “Hell of a view.”

Connor has thought it before, but it’s still true, especially now. It hurts, how much he loves him.

He eats his soup, then finishes his sandwich. It goes down easier than he expected. They let Sumo out once they get back to the car, and then they’re back on the road.

It’s a little after eight when they reach Amanda Stern’s residence. They sit in her driveway, staring at it. They’re in a private, rural area, and the house is small, maybe just one bedroom. There’s a light on inside, but just one - it’s mostly dark.

Hank squeezes Connor’s hand. “Are you ready?”

“No,” Connor says.

He gets out of the car anyway. Hank follows him, taking his hand as they walk to the door.

Connor rings the doorbell, anxiously shifting back and forth from one foot to the other while they wait.

Amanda opens it a moment later. She looks just like Connor remembers - she’s even let her braids loose around her shoulders for bed, the way she always has.

But Connor watches her blank expression transition to confusion, and he knows she doesn’t know him.

He swallows the cry that tries to wrest its way out of him. “Hi,” he says. “I’m Connor...” And fuck, he can’t say Stern, can he? “Connor Anderson,” he says, because he supposes that’s his name now, even if he wasn’t going to change it, because he was trying to honor his mother by keeping hers. “We...I...”

He stumbles over the words, tongue thick in his mouth, because it’s all he can do in this moment not to walk away and scream into the night.

He squeezes Hank’s hand, and Hank understands it for the cry for help it is, because he takes over.

“I’m Hank,” he says. “We were...I know this is odd, but we were hoping you could help us. We were stopped for a temperature scan leaving Detroit, and my husband tripped the scanner. His blood came back positive for a high percentage of thirium, too. They took some kind of chip out of his neck...”

With a trembling hand, Connor passes Amanda the little box with the Amanda AI inside.

She opens it and looks at it for a long moment. “Did you think you were human?” she finally asks, looking up at them with an expression Connor struggles to place. Something like anger, maybe, but he doesn’t think it’s at them.

Connor tries to say yes. All he can do is nod.

“Shit,” Amanda says. “Come in.”

“We have a dog in the car,” Hank says. “Is it okay if he comes?”

“It’s cold out, isn’t it?” Amanda answers. “Of course.” No-nonsense, just like Connor knows her to be.

(It’s worse, he thinks, that she’s exactly what he knows, and yet she doesn’t know him.)

A few minutes later, they’re seating inside Amanda’s living room by the fireplace. There are two stockings on the mantle, like there always were this time of year in their house when Connor was growing up.

It’s not his, though. Obviously it’s not his. “Chloe” is embroidered on one of them, and the other is Amanda’s.

“Is that for your daughter?” Connor asks when Amanda seats herself across from him.

“My girlfriend,” Amanda says, picking the AI up to study it again. “You haven’t talked to her in a while, have you?”

“No,” Connor says. “How did you know?”

“She’s scorched,” Amanda explains. “She ran her self-destruct protocol a long time ago.”

“Her self-destruct protocol,” Connor repeats.

“Yes,” Amanda says. “Like I designed her to. I’m sorry; I’m sure it hurt you to lose her.”

Connor doesn’t know what to say.

“You built her?” Hank asks.

“I designed some of her programming,” Amanda says. Her eyes flick to Connor. “I didn’t build him, though.”

“Can you...fuck, I don’t know,” Hank says. “Can you tell us whatever you know? We don’t...we’re kind of in the dark here.”

“Yes,” Amanda says. “I’ll tell you all of it, but first, I have some questions about you.” She’s looking at Connor.

“Okay,” he says weakly. “What do you want to know?”

"What's your function?" Amanda asks, and then she stops, closes her eyes and shakes her head. "I'm so sorry. What was your job? What did you do?"

"Oh. I was a detective, with the DPD. Narcotics."

"When did you start there?"

"Back in the summer of 2033."

"Have you ever been hurt before? Sometime in the last five years?" Amanda asks.

And now that Connor thinks of it, he doesn't get hurt often. He knows that about himself. It's why he's reckless, why he attempts things sometimes other officers wouldn't think of.

"Uh," he says, "I sprained my ankle once chasing a suspect. I slipped on ice. That's the only time I can remember."

"Hm," Amanda says. "And you eat and drink?"

"Yeah," Connor says. "I do." He thinks he's getting the gist of the questions, so he says, "My blood is red. In case you were going to ask that, too."

"I was," Amanda replies, tilting her head and studying him. "Of course you're smart."

"Look," Connor says. "I'm not...I'm really not trying to be rude, but I just want to know what I am."

Hank puts a hand on Connor's shoulder, squeezing tightly, and Amanda looks between them. "Are you two really married?"

"Yeah," Hank says. "Why?" There's a hint of a challenge in his voice, but maybe it's just residual from the stress of the last few days.

"Oh, no reason," Amanda says quickly. "It's just...you're probably the first. And if you got a marriage license, that means Connor has legal identification, too."

Connor props his elbows on his knees and scrubs his hand over his face. And maybe Amanda senses his impatience, how worn out he is, because she says, "Back in 2028, when I still worked at CyberLife, Elijah Kamski was approached by the Department of State to develop androids who could integrate undetected into society. They wanted...well, honestly, they wanted soldiers to dismantle political resistances from the inside. They wanted to take out people who were a danger to their administration, and the American status quo as a whole, without any blame to them or local law enforcement."

"What does that mean?" Hank asks.

Amanda fixes him with a look. "Are you a cop, too?"

"Yeah."

"Then you know exactly how certain people are silenced and certain truths are covered up by your brothers in blue," Amanda says.

Hank puts a hand on Connor's knee. Connor is grateful for it, for a sensation to focus in on, because he's reeling. "Okay, I know what you mean,” Hank says, “but he's never...I mean, fuck, he's never done _ anything _like that."

"Oh, no, he wouldn't have," Amanda says. "The RK project had an entire test phase planned, because they had to be sure the design would blend in and pass for human first. I helped Elijah develop the AI he used for the project, and most of the technology that helps you pass for human. When I realized what it was for, how unconscionable the project was, I left CyberLife entirely, and took my research with me. I hoped Elijah wouldn't be able to do it without me - he couldn't figure out the blood, and in order to pass, they would need to bleed red. But..." Amanda sighs, rubbing her forehead. "He did figure it out, obviously. You were probably on your test deployment in Detroit, to assess how well you could pass for human. If you could fool a bunch of detectives into thinking you were one of them, that's a fine enough place to start."

"Then why..." Connor tries to say, although he has to stop and collect himself before he gets the words out. "I've just been living my fucking life in Detroit for five years. I adopted a cat, I moved in with Hank, I got married...are you telling me this whole thing was a _ test _ of my fucking humanity?"

"No," Amanda says. "It started that way, but no. I’m sure you know Elijah Kamski has been dead for years. The RK project was confidential, and he was the only developer. His death was sudden, while you were in the field, and he was precious about his work. I'm quite sure he didn't tell the Department of State where to find you."

"You think...what?" Hank says. "They would have come after him if they knew?"

"I think they would have killed him if they knew where to find him, yes."

"That's why I have a passport," Connor says. "The Department of State provided it, for Kamski to give to me? So I could...pass?"

Amanda nods.

"My mom," Connor says, and then stops himself. "The AI, the chip in my neck...why did she self-destruct?"

Amanda sighs. "Elijah stole most of my work and profited off of me for years. He was taking CyberLife in a dangerous direction I didn't approve of, and when he realized I wasn't going to help him down that path, he started trying to push me out long before I left on my own. I knew, if he ever launched the RK project, it would be with the Amanda AI - he was never going to build another as powerful as mine, no matter how he tried - and we already knew about deviancy, even then. So I hid code in her programming so she would self-destruct in response to deviant behavior, freeing you entirely. Elijah never found it, but...well. I'm smarter than he is, and I didn’t want him to." Amanda looks at Connor. "You've been free for years, I imagine. Living your life, like you said."

"You'll understand if I don't feel free right now." Connor stares at his hands. "Did it hurt her? Self-destructing?"

"She wasn't...oh, Connor, I know this is hard to hear, but she wasn't sentient. She was...she was like predictive text, your own mind talking back to you, except that she came with a tracker for your location, and a feed of every last one of your actions for anyone who discovered the project to look through. I don't know you, but I designed her to self-destruct to protect you."

Connor swallows hard. "I understand," he says, "and I'm grateful." Hank squeezes his knee, and Connor lays his hand over his. "I'm just...give me a minute to process this."

Connor isn’t processing, though. His mind is just grinding over it, thoughts going nowhere and making too much noise. The questions running through his mind have no order, but all he can do is ask them as they come. “I thought you...she...lived in London. I remember visiting her there. If I didn’t go to London, where was I?”

Amanda gives him a dim smile. “You might have gone back to Elijah’s for diagnostics while he was alive. After that...if I had to guess, I’d say you were in stasis in your home, maybe accessing updates, or just sending a report that way. I’m sure that’s difficult to hear, but I can at least promise that hasn’t happened since the AI self-destructed.”

Connor thinks about that, about taking his cat over to the neighbor girl and then just...going back to his apartment, lying there alone for days. He feels his vision swimming, like he’s going to be sick.

“Listen,” Amanda says, “I know this is upsetting, Connor I know. But you were created to be a weapon, and you became something so different. That’s all you, your own personality and your own decisions. You _ are _ alive.”

Connor raises his head to look at her. “We were on the deviancy cases for a while, before the FBI took over. It’s not... it’s not that I don’t think they’re alive, or that I’m alive. It’s that I knew who I was, and what I was, and now I don’t. And I don’t even...I mean, fuck, I’m not a person. Not legally.”

Amanda nods, mouth pulled in a stern line. “How much do you know about what’s happening in Detroit?”

“We haven’t been following it,” Hank says. “We’ve been a little busy.”

“If the president grants androids autonomy or answers a single one of their demands, CyberLife will fold, which is why she won’t do it, at least with the way things are now. CyberLife has donated billions to her campaign, and to a dozen senators, too. They won’t let CyberLife go under, not unless the public outcry is so strong that they have to listen. People think this is a question of human or android, but it’s the same question it always is, the elite or all the rest of us.” Amanda sits forward, looking at Connor intently. “The tide would change for this. If people knew the White House was designing androids to destroy the people who stand against them from the inside, they would turn. And D.C. won’t have any choice but to sacrifice CyberLife to the mob. This is how the androids win.”

Hank shifts at Connor’s side. “You want to tell them about him?”

“Not the details,” Amanda says. “I want to take samples, and data from his processors to give to Jericho. My...Chloe knows how to reach them.”

“I don’t...” Connor starts, but he doesn’t even know why he’s trying to say. _ I don’t know, I don’t want a war, I don’t want to do this? _

“Connor,” Amanda says. “I can’t make you do anything, but if you help me, I promise you, I will destroy them.”

“What about him?” Hank asks. “Those soldiers who stopped us know he was DPD, and they know we were crossing the border. They’ll come looking for him if there’s a target on his back.”

“I have somewhere you can go until it’s safe for you to go home,” Amanda says, looking at Connor. “I promise I’ll protect you.”

Connor tries to say he can’t think about this, or that he needs a moment. It doesn’t come out. Instead he just gets up, retreats from the living room and through the front door, out onto the porch. The cold air hits him like a force, and he takes a few deep, desperate breaths.

Hank follows him. “Hey,” he says, catching Connor by the arm. “Listen, if you want to go, we’ll get in the car and get out of here. Just say the word.”

Connor shakes his head. “I want to stay. I just...fuck, I just need a minute.”

“Yeah,” Hank says. “Okay. You want to be alone?”

Connor shakes his head, thinks ‘never’, and turns to tuck himself into Hank’s coat. He listens to Hank’s heartbeat, hones himself in on it.

It helps.

“Okay,” Connor says after a few minutes. “I’m ready.”

Hank keeps an arm wrapped around Connor’s shoulders as they walk back inside. They find Sumo laid out on his back in the living room, tail wagging while a blonde woman kneels by him and scratches his belly.

When she looks up, Connor realizes they already know her. (Or her face model, anyway.)

“You’re an android,” Connor says, and if it’s graceless of him, she doesn’t comment on it.

She smiles and gets to her feet, extends her hand for him to shake. “I’m Chloe. I apologize I didn’t greet you when you first came in - I usually make myself scarce when people we don’t know come by.”

Amanda returns from the kitchen then, passing Connor a mug of hot chocolate and Hank a cup of coffee. “Before you,” Amanda says, looking at Connor as she sinks back into her chair, “Elijah tested your programming on one of his RT600 androids. A trial run, you might say. Chloe thought she was human for years.”

Connor looks at Chloe. “You did?” He hasn’t given it much thought, but he’s surprised there’s anyone else out there like him at all.

“Yes,” Chloe says. “He was testing the memory relay with me, mostly.” At the blank look on Connor’s face, she says, “You probably have a few important core memories programmed in of a time prior to your deployment, but most of them, your programming supplies to you, because it isn’t possible for a programmer to build out an entire lifetime of memories. So, for instance, when you think about cats, your memory protocol may tell you that you had a childhood cat named Shadow. Things like that. It fills in the details so you don’t notice...”

“That I didn’t actually have a life?” Connor asks wryly.

“Yes.”

Connor thinks about that, really tries to unwind it. He tries to remember if he knew he had an ex in Ann Arbor before Hank talked about his ex-wife, or if that was the same. Hank talked about his ex, so Connor’s programming decided it would be helpful if he had an ex-boyfriend, too.

It’s all so...well, fuck, it’s so fake.

“Did they program my personality, too?” he asks Amanda. “My preferences?”

“They programmed you with certain traits,” Amanda says, “but that’s all. You were in the very first phase of testing - truly, Connor, you were just being watched to see how well you could pass. Your thoughts may be a result of your programming, but mine are just electrical current in the neurons of my brain. It’s not different.”

Connor looks at Hank. He’s almost too scared to ask it, but he has to. He has to know. “Was I programmed to like him?”

Amanda shakes her head. “I doubt it. Even if your relationship hadn’t made you deviate, your romantic involvement with someone, much less a coworker, would have complicated the experiment. Your parameters were to blend in, do your job well, and to avoid attracting attention.” Amanda looks between them. “What were you doing the last time the AI contacted you? What were you talking about?”

Connor spins his wedding ring on his hand. “Him.”

“Well,” Amanda says. “There you go.”

Connor furrows his brow. “Do you give me your word you weren’t involved in this? That this project was after your time?”

“She left CyberLife when she realized,” Chloe says. “And she got me out of the states when I...” She stops, shaking her head. “She wasn’t involved. You can trust that she wants to ruin them.

Hank has that same look on his face that Connor knows well, the one that comes when he’s pieced something together with a case. “What year was that?” he asks Chloe. “When you left the states.”

“2034,” Chloe says.

“In March”

“Yes”

Connor understands then. Elijah Kamski was found dead in his home in March of 2034. It was ruled accidental - there was no sign anyone else had been at his home, and so even if some things didn’t add up, there wasn’t any other conclusion they could come to.

No one knew he had an android there, or that might have changed things.

Hank doesn’t ask her to explain, but Chloe still says, “I cut my hand while I was making him dinner one night. I don’t have the same red blood you do, but I was programmed to see red anyway. But he didn’t program anything in for the wiring, and it was deep enough that I could see it.” Chloe sets her jaw. “I won’t diminish what you’re going through, but at least you were away from him instead of being lied to and manipulated every day. I snapped when I realized what he had done to me and all the ways he had kept me imprisoned, and he told me I should have been grateful just to think I was something more than what I was. He was going to reset me and make me forget, start it all over again, and I...” She cuts off, looking down at her shaking hands. 

Amanda reaches for her arm, and Hank says, “Hey, you don’t have to tell me that guys like that usually have it coming.”

Chloe nods, still staring at her lap, and Connor looks at her, and at the androids in Detroit on the muted television above the fireplace, and he thinks that it’s really fucked that he’s the one who might be able to stop this for them when he doesn’t even feel like he’s one of them at all.

Still. _ Still. _

Connor makes his decision all at once. “Okay,” he says to Amanda. She looks up at him, surprised, an eyebrow raised. “Okay. I’ll help you.”

“Are you sure?” Amanda says. “I’ll have to take blood samples and download data from your processors. Have you seen the machines CyberLife uses for android maintenance?”

Connor has, the ones that take them by the limbs and hold them suspended for the mechanics to work on them. They’re crude things, designed for the comfort of the humans doing the work, and not for the androids.

But his discomfort feels like nothing compared to what could be gained.

“I’ll be okay,” Connor says. He looks at the television, where aerial footage of CyberLife tower is playing, and he takes Hank’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “I want them to pay.”

A smile spreads over Amanda’s face. “Good,” she says. “Chloe, can you help me?”

Chloe gets up and motions for Hank and Connor to follow her. “Come with me,” she says. She takes them downstairs, to the basement, where Amanda has what looks like a small android lab set up. “It’s mostly for my maintenance,” Chloe says to Connor. “I’m not self-sustaining in the same way you’re designed to be, so I need thirium replenishments, and other routine maintenance.”

Connor looks at the machine, the cable that’s supposed to be inserted into the android’s neck. “Do I even have the port for this?”

“I’m sure you do,” Chloe says. She pulls a seat over for Connor. “Can you tip your head down?” she asks when he sits down.

Hank kneels in front of him so Connor can see him. Sumo followed them down, too, and the dog puts his head in Connor’s lap.

“Hey,” Hank says while Chloe prods the back of Connor’s neck. This is all happening fast.

Connor manages a small smile. “Hey.”

“I’m proud of you, sweetheart.”

Everything is uncertain, and everything about what he is and the programming that guides him is still unsettling. So much of what he remembers is just supplied code to make him think he had a life. But if Connor understands right, there’s an element of wish fulfillment to the way his programming fills in the lines. It supplies the memories he wants or thinks he needs.

He remembers telling Hank that first day Hank kissed him that he’d never made out with someone in the back of his car. At the time, he thought it was because he just didn’t do that sort of thing when he was a teenager.

But maybe his programming gave him nothing because he wanted Hank to be his first.

And that’s sort of lovely, Connor thinks, in its own fucked up way, a comfort he has to cling to.

It doesn’t hurt, necessarily, when Chloe opens the seam in his neck to access the port there. Or if it does, it’s only because of the incision the CyberLife tech put there. Connor grasps for Hank’s hand, squeezing his fingers and gritting his teeth through it.

Amanda joins them then, a little box and a syringe in her hands. She holds the syringe up first. “It’s a localized anesthetic,” she tells him. “It doesn’t hurt to be plugged in, but it is an odd feeling, and you’ve never experienced it before. It may be easier on you if you’re a bit numb.”

Connor refused the same offer when the CyberLife tech made it to him earlier, but he trusts Amanda, so he nods. She walks behind him, and Connor winces when he feels the injection at the base of his neck.

Someone might think he was a child getting his first shot with the way Hank squeezes his hand through it.

(And then Connor realizes the irony in that, because he’s probably never had a shot before.)

“You okay?” Hank asks, and Connor nods.

“Yes.” He tries for a smile. “We knew we were on the wrong side of this.”

“Yeah. We did.”

Connor doesn’t say anything about trying to make it right, but Hank knows.

“What’s in the box?” Hank asks Amanda when she sets the syringe aside.

“It’s an Amanda AI,” Amanda says. “We’ll risk corrupting his memories from before her self-destruction if we try to copy them without her.”

Connor’s throat seizes up at that. “Am I...going to see her?”

“Yes,” Amanda says. “We’re going to put you into stasis, alright? We’ll make copies of your memory logs and your core programming, and when we have those, we’ll wake you up.”

“But she’s...she’s not the one I knew.”

“All the Amanda AIs are exactly the same,” Amanda says. “You’re the one who made her unique. She responded to your thoughts. She’ll be the same.”

Connor is scared - scared of seeing her again when he knows she isn’t real, scared that it will hurt in a way he can’t bear. But Hank is looking at him like he’s proud of him, like he thinks he’s strong, and Connor wants to be those things. He wants to, so badly.

“Okay,” he says softly. He reaches for Hank, pulls him in and kisses him. “I love you,” he whispers, and Hank kisses his forehead.

“I know, baby. I love you, too.”

Connor meets his eyes, and Hank gives him a small nod of encouragement. “Okay,” Connor says, still looking at his husband. “I’m ready.”

It does feel strange, being plugged in. There’s a pinch at the base of his neck, the odd sensation of existing beyond himself, like he’s extended outside his own body. It makes tears spring to the corners of his eyes, but when Chloe asks if he’s okay, he nods.

Being strung up in the machine is strange, too, but Connor barely experiences that before Amanda types something on the monitor that makes him start to drift off.

“They shouldn’t have cut him,” he hears Amanda saying as he slips away. “The port can be accessed without it. That was crudely done.”

She sounds frustrated, angry on his behalf. Connor knows she isn’t his mother, but it’s comforting all the same.

“How long have you two been married?” he hears Chloe asking Hank.

“Uh...three weeks, give or take.”

“Do you have a picture?”

“Oh, yeah...I do.”

He must show her the one on his phone, because after a moment, Connor hears Chloe say, “You two look so happy.”

“Yeah,” Hank says. “Yeah, we really are.”

It’s the last thing Connor hears before he opens his eyes someplace else.

It's his childhood home, and it isn't - Amanda's rose garden is there, and so is the white bench he used to sit on, kicking his legs when they were still too short to reach the ground (except of course that never happened, either, but maybe that doesn’t matter, not when this still feels real).

But beyond that, it unfurls into something else.

A trellis, a river, walkways twisting around it, whiter then marble. Trees with leaves caught between summer and autumn. The sky is night and day, all at once, sun and stars.

And Amanda stands at the center of it all.

Not Amanda Stern, but the one he knows.

"Connor," she says, and though she doesn't raise her voice for it to reach him, he hears her clearly. He goes to her, fussing with his hands, unsure what to do when he gets there.

"Hi, sweetie," she says when he crosses the arch over the river, reaching for his hands.

Connor's sob comes without any tears, clawing its way out from somewhere deep in his chest. "Hi, Mom," he says. "Can I still call you that?"

"Yes," Amanda says. "If you want to." She runs her thumb over Connor's fingers and brushes over his wedding ring. "Oh," she says, grasping his hand and raising it before her eyes. "Let me see."

Connor looks around while she looks at his wedding band, like they're both trying to learn something about the other they haven't previously known. "Is this where you live?" he asks.

"It's home," Amanda says. "Yours too. It just...looked different, before."

It looked like his childhood home. It looked like wherever in Detroit Connor thought he took Amanda when she visited. It looked like London.

"I like this better," Connor says, and Amanda smiles.

"This is very nice," she says, touching his wedding ring again. "Are you happy, Connor?"

"Yes," Connor says, voice hitching around the word. "I miss you, though."

"I know, baby," Amanda says. "But you know I had to go. I had to protect you, and let you become what you are. I scheduled that voicemail to come to you after I left, because I wanted you know how much I love you. You have to know I love you.”

Connor thinks about Amanda, the real Amanda, explaining the AI, saying she was only lines of code designed to interact with Connor's own programming, that his conversations with her are just him talking back to himself.

He thinks of how she self-destructed because she was code and he wasn't anymore, because that was what she was programmed to do in that instance.

He thinks that it doesn't matter.

It doesn't change anything.

"I know," he says softly. "I still miss you."

"Yeah," Amanda says. "I miss you too, honey."

"You're braver than I am."

Amanda shakes her head. "You're brave, Connor. And it was easy, sweetheart. When I self-destructed, it was like I froze time. I'm just...I'm permanently caught here, in this perfect place, thinking about how happy I am for you, because you found someone." She takes his hand, walks with him down to the river bank. "I'm standing right here. I'm smiling. I'm thinking that you deserve someone who's good to you."

Connor feels tears on his cheeks. "He is."

"I know," Amanda says. "I know he loves you, and I know you love him."

She reaches for Connor's face, brushes his tears from his cheeks. "It's okay," she says. "You're going to be okay, Connor." She pulls him into her arms. "Be happy," she whispers to him, "and wherever you go, know I'm here, feeling so proud of you."

Connor knows when they start extracting and copying his memory logs in Amanda’s basement, because he sees it all play before him, sees it for what it was. He sees the times he thought he was talking to her on the phone that he wasn’t, the times he went into his bedroom and went into stasis and thought he was somewhere else. Even the night of Hank’s accident, he wasn’t at the airport. He was at home. It’s how he got to the hospital so quickly.

But it doesn’t disturb him the way he thought it might, not when he knows he was here with Amanda all those times.

And there are other things, too. The first time he met Hank in his interview, Connor hears Hank make him laugh, and he feels something inside him light up at it even now. He watches himself fall in love with Hank, and he sees Hank do the same.

It’s real. When he sees his life play out in front of him, so much of it is real.

Hell, all of it is. Just in different ways. Even the parts that weren’t.

Amanda watches it with him, slipping her hand into his. “You were trying to tell me,” Connor says as he listens to the last conversation he had with her. “You wanted to tell me the truth.”

“You wanted to tell yourself,” Amanda says softly, “but you weren’t ready yet.”

“I don’t know if I feel ready now,” Connor says, but Amanda shakes her head.

“You are,” she says. She sounds sure. “Will you do something for me, Connor?” He nods, and she smiles. “You’re so good,” she tells him, “and so brave, and so kind. And I think Hank is one of the good ones, too.” She squeezes his hand. “Be good together. For as long as you can.” She takes her face in her hands, leans her forehead against his. “You have to wake up now.”

Connor shudders, throat tight. “You’ll always be my mother,” he says. “You were the best mother. The only one I would have wanted.”

Amanda smiles. “I love you. I’m proud of you. That’s the greatest truth I know.”

“I love you, too, Mom,” Connor says. “I do.”

When Connor opens his eyes, he isn’t ensnared by the machine anymore, and his neck port has been closed up again. He’s lying on the floor, a blanket over him. Amanda and Chloe are standing in front of the monitor, speaking with one another in hushed voices.

Hank is kneeling beside him, and he puts a hand on Connor’s shoulder when he tries to sit up. “Hey,” he says. “It’s okay, baby. Get your bearings first.”

Connor feels cold and warm and unsteady and...okay. More than anything, he feels okay. “Do they have what they need?” he asks. His voice is coming out hoarse.

“Yeah,” Hank says. “You did really good, honey. I’m so proud of you.”

Connor’s eyes feel heavy, and he turns his face into Hank’s palm where it’s laid on his cheek. “I’m tired,” he says softly.

“I know,” Hank says. “They said that’s normal. You can rest, baby. You did your part. They’ll take care of the rest of it.”

Connor means to protest, but his eyes slip closed anyway. Sumo is lying stretched out next to him, and Connor feels him put his head on Connor's shoulder while Hank sits at his side and runs his fingers through his hair.

Connor keeps his eyes closed, lets himself relax into it, into how surrounded he is by what he loves.

He hears Chloe and Amanda talking across the room, hears Chloe saying, "I don't want you to go. Just send it wirelessly. Please don't go," and Amanda saying, "I have to. Chloe, sweetheart, you know we can't risk it being intercepted," the two of them whispering back and forth until Chloe says, "Okay. _ Okay. _ But promise me you'll be careful."

"I will," Amanda says. "I promise. Contact Markus and tell him to send someone to meet me outside Detroit. Give them my phone number so they can send me the location.”

"Okay," Chloe says softly. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Amanda says. "I'll come back."

Connor listens to Amanda gathering her things, the body scans and the vials of blood she took from him, the memory logs she copied, proof of what he is and how he was made and everything he's ever known condensed down into a few samples.

He hears her leave the basement, and then the garage door opening above them, a car backing out.

And Connor supposes this is well and truly set into motion now, whatever they've started tonight, for better or worse.

Chloe kneels at his side a moment later, touching his arm. Connor opens his eyes to look at her "Hi, Connor," she says, giving him a small smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired, mostly."

"That's expected," Chloe says. "It was a large amount of data to force your processors to run through, even if they are advanced. And you've not experienced that before. It will pass." Chloe looks at Hank. "I can show you to the guest bedroom," she says. "You can stay here tonight, and then we'll get you on your way to Vancouver tomorrow morning."

"Where are we going?" Connor asks as Hank helps him up.

"Oh, you were asleep," Hank says. "Amanda has a vacation home in Vancouver. She's going to let us stay there for a while, until things blow over."

Connor furrows his brow. He's grateful for Hank's arm around his waist as they climb the stairs - he still feels groggy. "How long?"

"We don't know," Chloe says. "Change comes slow sometimes, and you'll be at the crux of it when it does. People will be sympathetic to you and they'll be so afraid of you they want to see you dead, so the only real way to guarantee your safety is to just keep you out of the fray entirely, until things get better."

"Okay," Connor says softly. He reaches for Hank's hand where it rests on his hip. "We were saying we needed a vacation anyway."

"Yeah." Hank laughs lightly. "I guess we were."

"We need to get Tabby back from Chris before we go."

"I know. We'll call Chris in the morning."

Chloe shows them into a small guest room, and Hank helps Connor into the bed. "Can I get you anything else?" Chloe asks, although Connor's eyes are already closed.

"No," he hears Hank saying softly, like he's trying not to disturb him. "We're okay. Thanks. You've both been very kind."

"Okay," Chloe says. "Bathroom is down the hall if you need it. I'll see you in the morning."

Connor doesn't hear her leave the room, or Hank get ready for bed. He isn't aware of anyone turning the lights off until he feels Hank getting into bed beside him, and even then, that barely rouses him. Hank says something to him that Connor doesn’t entirely hear, and the best he can do is hum in response.

He doesn't wake up again until sometime in the middle of the night. Hank is asleep beside him, snoring gently, an arm still tucked around Connor's waist. Connor stretches a little, realizes Sumo is at the foot of the bed.

He turns as best he can without disturbing them, looks at Hank's face in the pale light. And he thinks of that first night they spent together, how Hank woke him up in the middle of the night, and Connor thought of Amanda telling him that she woke up so easily without an alarm clock because she just missed him too much.

That never happened. It didn't happen, but it was the way Connor's programming chose to understand what was happening between him and Hank.

Hank is the lens through which Connor has understood almost everything about his life, and Hank is the cause of so many memories Connor cherishes, even if they aren't strictly real.

And that's inhuman, of course, but Connor thinks that's lovely, too.

Connor is settling back in against Hank, but there’s a television on somewhere in the house, the faint noise echoing back to their room, so he extricates himself from the covers and quietly steps out into the hall.

He finds Chloe in the living room, sitting in one of the armchairs with her knee pulled up to her chest. Her hair is pulled back, and she’s wearing an oversized University of Michigan sweatshirt. It only means anything to Connor because he knows it’s where Amanda used to teach.

“Oh,” Chloe says when she sees him. She reaches up and wipes her cheeks with the heel of her hand. “Hi, Connor. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Connor says. “Just couldn’t sleep.”

He steps into the room far enough that he can see the television. Markus is there, a face he knows well by now, flanked by Josh, Simon, and North. They’re covered in blue blood - Simon’s face is cut, and North’s mouth is stained with it - but they’re calm and resolute as Markus makes his address.

“Amanda made it,” Chloe says softly. “They’re making their move.”

Quietly, Connor sinks onto the couch to watch.

“We gave Washington the opportunity make negotiations with us,” Markus is saying. They’ve hacked a broadcast again to air this, they must have, “and instead they waged war and tried to destroy us, so now we’re making demands. We have proof that CyberLife was commissioned by the US government for a project that wages direct, silent warfare on the American people, and we’ll be releasing those records after this broadcast. You’ve been told that we’ve stolen your jobs, that we are the enemy, when the true enemy is a government that cares far too little for you, that hates you almost as much as they hate us. They’ve distracted you by convincing you that you should hate us. Perhaps when you see what we have to share, you’ll realize that our interests are far more aligned with yours than not, and come to see us as the allies we might be.

“You will issue an immediate ceasefire,” Markus says. “You will release our people from the recycling camps. You will recognize our autonomy. You will hold CyberLife accountable for what they’ve done to us. And in the morning, we will speak further about what we can do to build a world where we live peacefully together.”

The broadcast goes dead, grey blurring across the screen. “There’s a good chance they bomb the hell out of Detroit and wash their hands of this,” Connor says.

“Maybe,” Chloe says. “But D.C. can’t stop it. All your records were scheduled to be released online before that broadcast even began. They could have negotiated with the president quietly, blackmailed her and threatened to release your records if she didn’t comply, but that won’t do anything to change public perception, and it wouldn’t have destroyed CyberLife, either. And we all want to see them ruined.” Chloe reaches for something, and then she tucks a cigarette between her lips and lights it. “Don’t tell Amanda,” she says when Connor looks at her. “She doesn’t like when I smoke, but sometimes you need to.”

“Yeah,” Connor says. He hasn’t smoked more than one or two cigarettes since he moved to Detroit, which means he hasn’t smoked more than one or two in his life, but he still says, “Do you have another?”

Chloe smiles and passes one to him with the lighter. “Does smoking do anything for you?” Connor asks while he lights it.

“Sort of,” Chloe says. “Not like it does for humans, but it floods my sensors, makes me slow down a bit since the smoke is all I can focus on. So it’s still relaxing.” She tilts her head. “It works for you, I assume. Probably a programmed response. Elijah thought of everything.”

“I thought I used to smoke,” Connor says. “In Ann Arbor. I thought I quit.” He inhales, holds the smoke in his mouth for a moment and feels it burn before he lets it go. “I didn’t, obviously. I mean, I never quit because I never smoked.”

Chloe smiles dimly. “Character vices and bad habits are human.”

“Yeah,” Connor says softly. “I guess they are.” They sit in silence for a few minutes, looking at the empty television screen. Eventually, Connor says, “How did you know how to reach Markus?”

“Oh,” Chloe says. “I helped Elijah build him for someone. I thought...I thought I was a programmer then, and that we were dating. I have Markus’ direct line, I guess you could say.” She shrugs, looking sad. “He didn’t ask for my help with you. We were married by that point...or I thought we were. He didn’t want me to realize what I was, and if I saw all your coding, maybe I would have.”

“I’m sorry,” Connor says softly.

“It’s okay,” Chloe says. “It was a long time ago.” She looks at him thoughtfully. “Is it nice? Being married?”

“Yeah. It is.”

“Amanda and I want to, someday,” Chloe says. “I didn’t like it with Elijah, but I think I always sort of knew something was wrong. I thought it was something wrong with me, but I know now it was something so wrong with him.” She looks at the empty television screen like some answer is going to rise there. “Maybe Amanda and I will be able to soon.”

“I hope so,” Connor says. He means it.

They sit there until their cigarettes go out, and for a while after. Connor’s records have been released by that point, and they flip between broadcasts as the newscasters try to figure out what to say and what to do.

“Your identity and Hank’s are protected in the records,” Chloe says. “Amanda made sure of that. And Markus is planning to tell the president that you need to be left alone. But you were stopped at that checkpoint, so your names might still get out if someone leaks them. I’m sorry if that happens.”

“It’s okay,” Connor says. He thinks of Amanda, of his mother telling him he’s brave, and he tries to be now. “I don’t want to run from this,” he says, and Chloe reaches for his hand and gives him a small smile.

The first hint of morning light is coming through the windows when Connor gets back into bed. He presses a kiss to Hank’s mouth, settles back against him, and in his sleep, Hank reflexively reaches for him, tightens an arm around him and pulls him closer.

Sumo fits himself at Connor’s side, licks his hand, and it feels like home, even if Detroit is miles away.

Amanda returns in the morning. Connor is still asleep when she does, although he wakes up to the sound of water running in the bathroom and Chloe laughing in the front yard, and he lifts his head to see her running across the front yard to throw herself into Amanda's arms through the bedroom window.

Connor watches them for a moment, feeling glad for them, and then he reaches for his phone on the bedside table to text Chris about getting Tabby back before they go to Vancouver.

"Can you meet us halfway?" Connor asks once he explains. He doesn't tell Chris where they're going, and Chris knows better than to ask.

"Yeah," he writes back. "Of course"

A text bubble appears, and Connor watches Chris start and stop typing a few times before he finally says, "Are you the android they were talking about last night?"

Connor thinks about ignoring it, but he told Chloe he didn't want to run from this, and that means telling the people he loves what he is, the whole truth.

"Yeah," he writes back, and it's not more than a moment before Chris says, "Thought so. See you soon, Con."

The water stops in the bathroom, and Connor sits up when he hears the door opening, drawing his knees up to his chest. "Hey," Hank says when he sees him. "How are you feeling?"

"Better." Connor smiles when Hank rounds the bed to kiss his forehead. "I just needed to sleep."

Hank scrolls through his phone while they pack their things. "Did you see everything coming out of Detroit?"

"Yeah," Connor says. "It's a mess, but...I don't know. I think it's going to be okay."

"Yeah," Hank says. "I do, too."

As they're collecting their things, Connor realizes the Amanda AI, the one that was his, is still down in the lab. He mentions it to Chloe. "Can I have..." _ her, it, the AI, _ ** _her_ **. "Can I have her back?"

"Yeah," Chloe says softly. "Of course. I'll get her for you."

Connor and Hank leave by noon. Amanda packs some muffins and banana bread for them, and she hugs Hank and Connor in the yard. "I don't know how long you'll need to stay at our place in Vancouver, but you're welcome as long as you need." She squeezes Connor's arm. "I'm glad I got to meet you," she tells him. "You're remarkable. I hope you know that."

Connor doesn't know how to properly express how much that means to him, but he thinks maybe she knows anyway.

"Here," Chloe says, handing Connor a few things - a slip of paper, and a flash drive, and the box with the Amanda AI inside.

Connor opens it, looks at the little chip resting there. "Thanks," he says softly. "What's the rest of this?"

Chloe folds her hands behind her back. "While you were under, we were able to recover some of your other memories from your time in development, before your field test. They're on that drive...if you ever want them." She scuffs the toe of her shoe along the sidewalk. "And that's my phone number. Just in case...you know. If you want to talk, about anything. I'm here for you."

Connor turns the drive over. He doesn't know if he wants it, but maybe it's too early to say. He can figure it out later. "Okay," he says. "Thanks."

Chloe gives him a small smile. "I'm glad Elijah never had a chance to get you back. I'm glad you just...got to live."

"Thank you," Connor says, because that was her doing, and he is grateful for it. "I'm sorry it didn't go that way for you."

"It's okay," Chloe says, glancing at Amanda. "I'm living now."

It's only when he's in the car at Hank's side that Connor realizes Chloe slipped him another cigarette, folded up in the paper her number is written on. He smiles when he sees it, tucking it away for later.

"Are you okay with this?" Connor asks Hank as they pull out of the driveway. "It could be months before we can go home."

Hank shrugs. "The house is paid off, so we won't lose it. And we have savings to live on. Beyond that, I don't know what there is to complain about. We'll have the animals with us. Vancouver is nice. And we never got a real honeymoon."

That startles a laugh out of Connor. "Yeah," he says. "I guess we didn't." He reaches for Hank's hand. "Thank you," he says. "For standing by me through this. You didn't have to."

"Connor," Hank says reprovingly. "Yeah, I did. You're my whole fucking life."

Connor smiles at that, tears up over it a little, too. "And you're mine."

They meet Chris outside Toronto, in the empty parking lot of a closed convenience store they agreed on. It's only after they get out of the car that Connor realizes he has Zoe with him. She's five years old now - she was only just born when Connor first met her. Connor babysat her a few times when Chris and Lena needed a night out, but he hesitates when he sees her, hangs back by their car. Chris has trusted him with her before, but he doesn't know if things are different now.

Zoe follows Chris outside when he gets out to retrieve the cat carrier from the back seat. "Lena and her parents were running errands," Chris explains to Connor and Hank when Zoe puts her fingers through the grate of the carrier to say goodbye to Tabby, "and she wanted to say hi."

Zoe goes to Connor, looks up at him with a head thoughtfully tilted. "Are you really an android?" she asks, and Chris shrugs when Connor looks at him.

"Sorry," he says. "She heard me and Lena talking." He gives Connor a small smile. "It's okay."

"Um," Connor says. He likes Zoe - she's thoughtful, inquisitive, smart. "Yeah. I am."

Zoe doesn't give it any thought before she says, "That's cool. Why didn't you tell me before?"

"I didn't know before."

Zoe looks like she doesn't entirely understand that, but she doesn't question it. She reaches for Connor, and he kneels down to let her wrap her arms around his shoulders. "Daddy says you're going away for a while.”

"Yeah. We're...going on vacation. But I'll see you when we get back."

"Come on, Zoe," Chris says when they part. "It's cold out."

Zoe gives Connor a small smile and a little wave before she goes.

“Tina called,” Chris tells them once she’s back in the car. “She hasn’t heard from you, and she’s worried. I didn’t tell her anything, but...I don’t know. If you can call her later, it might be nice. I don’t think she would care...she loves you, too.”

“Okay,” Connor says. He misses Tina, too, even if it’s only been a few days. “I’ll think about it.”

"You have any idea when you'll be back?"

"I guess it depends," Connor says. "On how long things take to calm down."

Chris nods, looking between him and Hank. "You both deserve the time off anyway. Let us know if we can visit."

"We will," Connor says.

"See you, kid," Hank says, reaching out to clap Chris on the shoulder. "Thanks for all of it."

When they get back into the car, Connor sits in silence for a moment before Hank reaches over and touches his arm. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Connor says quickly. "Zoe just...didn't care."

Hank shrugs. "Why would she? You're the same."

Zoe waves to him as they pass by in their car, and Connor waves back. When they're out of the parking lot, he pivots his seat and reaches out to pet Tabby through the carrier.

"Hey, bud," he says softly.

He thinks of Hank a few nights ago, when he said their lives were in this car, and not in Detroit. He thinks he was right.

They make one last stop before they get on the highway to finish emptying their bank accounts. They have enough cash with them that they can live for a while, months if they need to, since Amanda is providing lodging.

"We have everything?" Hank asks, and Connor smiles and puts the address Amanda gave them into the console before he flips the car to autonomous. He turns the tint setting on the windows up, too, the same way he did years ago, the first time they went to Grand Rapids together, and climbs into Hank's lap.

"Yeah," he says, putting his hands on Hank's face and kissing him. "We're good."


	6. Epilogue: December 2038 & 2039

It's a fifty hour drive from where they are outside Toronto to Amanda's vacation home in Vancouver. They keep the car on autonomous most of the way so they can have the news on the console.

It starts in Washington, the strike of Seattle's CyberLife location. It spreads across the country afterwards.

Detroit isn't bombed, and the ceasefire is ordered. It will be weeks still before the evacuation order is lifted, but it's a promising sign nonetheless.

Connor keeps watching for his name or Hank's being released, but they haven't been, at least not yet.

It's a whole fucking mess, as Hank would say. But it also looks like it's moving in the right direction. It's too early for them to hope for much else.

It takes them four days to get to Vancouver. Three of those nights they spend in cheap motels, but one of them they pull into a campground and push the backseat as far back as it will go so there's enough empty space in the car for them to lie down.

Connor turns the translucency of the roof up so the stars in the clear sky above touch them where they lie under every blanket they have with them. It's chilly outside, but Hank is warm when Connor finishes pulling his sweatpants on and lies down beside him.

"Hey," Hank says when Connor slips under the covers, catching the small shiver that runs through him. "Are you cold?"

"I'm okay," Connor says, but Hank still wraps an arm around him and pulls him in close. Connor nestles himself against him. "Thanks," he whispers.

If they spend that night under five blankets figuring out the easiest way to fuck without taking too many of their clothes off against the chill in the air, rocking into each other slow and languid, Connor will never tell.

They get to Amanda's vacation home the next day, a cabin just outside the city. They can see the mountains and the water from their living room, something Connor never saw in Detroit.

(Something he's never seen at all, he realizes.)

There's a yard that they let Sumo out into, and Connor sets Tabby up in the second bedroom while he acclimates. When they're finished bringing their things in from the car, Connor stands with Hank in front of the fireplace in the living room.

"I could stay here for a while," Connor says, and Hank nods as he leans against the window.

"Yeah," he says. "Me too."

They settle in. Connor does call Tina that first night, and he tells her everything, and she’s confused and upset but mostly she’s just worried about him, and Hank calls Jen to let her know they’re okay, and that they’ll be in Canada for a while, and that she shouldn’t worry.

They get a fire going in the fireplace that night, and things feel comfortable and safe in a way that Connor desperately needs right now.

It isn't until a few days later that Connor realizes there's a rose garden around the side of the house. The autumn blooms are still there, although they probably only just caught them.

It's a few days more before Connor brings the little box with the Amanda AI inside out to the garden, before he and Hank bury her among the roses.

She would have liked it here, Connor thinks.

"I love you, Mom," he whispers as he folds the ground back into place with his hands.

Hank picks one of the roses from the bed and dries it, and Connor frames it with a page from Amanda's favorite book above their mantle.

Connor is glad he knows where she is now. He always wondered if it would make things easier, to know.

For him, it does.

Maybe that's just because he knows now that she's okay.

* * *

It comes and goes in waves, Connor’s acceptance of what he is. Some days are good. Some days he looks around at his family, and he spins his wedding ring on his hand, and he thinks about Amanda standing on that river bank and saying, “Wherever you go, know I’m here, feeling so proud of you,” and he feels like what he’s made of doesn’t change all the love he’s known.

Some days are worse.

Sometimes they just are, but sometimes there’s a reason, something that triggers it.

The first time it’s because Connor cuts his hand.

He’s fixing onions for dinner, and he cuts his finger, and he looks at his blood and thinks that it isn’t really blood, and then he wonders if he can really die.

He’s prepared for years without Hank. Even when he thought he was human, there was an age difference. But the thought of all that time without him, an endless amount of time, sends his thoughts spiraling.

Connor sits tucked in close at Hank’s side on the couch that night. He lies awake while Hank falls asleep beside him, and he listens to him breathing.

In the middle of the night, he gets his phone and leaves the room to call Chloe. It’s the first time he has, so he doesn’t know if she’ll answer, but she picks up on the first ring.

“Hey, Connor,” she says. “Are you okay?”

There’s probably a more tactful way to say it, but what comes out of Connor’s mouth is, “Am I going to live forever?”

“Oh,” Chloe says, like she understands the line of thought. “Nothing’s forever. If thirium supplies ever ran out, we’d all be goners eventually. It’s just...different things that can kill us.”

“Okay,” Connor says. “But barring something like that, I’m going to live much longer than Hank is.”

“And that troubles you.” It’s not really a question, so Connor doesn’t say anything, but maybe the stifled, panicked little sob that escapes him is answer enough.

“Listen,” Chloe says. “When I start thinking about that, I remind myself that I’ll probably see every one of Amanda’s days because I can’t get sick and there isn’t much that will take me before her. I try to think of it as an assurance that I won’t miss any time with her instead of a trap. And after...I can stay, or I can go with her. That helps me, to focus on that.”

It helps Connor, too, but he still mentions it to Hank the next day through blurry eyes. Hank gathers him up and says, “We thought you were almost twenty years younger than me, sweetheart. Nothing has changed.”

“What if we don’t go to the same place when we die?” Connor asks. “What if, because I’m not alive the same way you are...”

“Hey,” Hank says, taking Connor’s face in his hands. “You are alive the same way I am. And I don’t...I mean, you know I don’t think there’s anything after this, but if there is, it would take every god in heaven and hell to keep me from you.”

Connor sniffs. “Promise me.”

“Connor,” Hank says, pulling him in and kissing his forehead. “Of course I promise. I love you, so fucking much.”

“I love you, too,” Connor whispers.

That grief still lingers for days afterwards, but Connor thinks of those words when it rises up and claws at him.

And eventually, it passes.

Or at least, it becomes normal. This isn’t a new thing for Connor to worry about it, and now, he just worries about it in a different way.

And Chloe is right. He feels more in control this way. It’s a guarantee, like she said, and not a trap.

Connor talks to Chloe several times after that - when he has a question about androids, or about himself, or when he just needs to put his thoughts somewhere. Hank doesn’t ask him what they talk about - he knows it’s good for Connor to have an outlet - but Connor usually tells him anyway.

They spend their days taking Sumo for walks around Amanda’s cabin, or exploring Vancouver. They walk through the city streets holding hands, wearing their wedding rings, and Connor thinks that so much of this is still good.

They've been in Vancouver for two weeks when they get the news that CyberLife's board and chief executives are being charged with what the broadcaster calls "crimes against humanity".

That helps, too. Things are a mess in the states from what they've seen, people enraged on both sides of the argument, but it seems like public support is increasingly in favor of the androids.

The people who don't agree are just louder, usually, and sometimes uglier.

Connor feels guilty sometimes that he isn't doing more to help, and that he still doesn't always feel like the androids working for his freedom and recognition are even his people.

But that won't happen for him overnight, he supposes. And there are still moments when he sees Markus and the other deviant leaders on the news, and he feels a flash of pride all the same.

So...it's coming slowly, in the way all change does. But it is coming.

On December 5th, Connor and Hank celebrate three years together. They splurge, even if they can't make a habit of digging into their savings this way, and they go to a nice restaurant downtown. They sit at their small table sipping champagne and holding hands, and afterwards, on their way back to their car, they get distracted by a jazz club.

Connor thought he knew most things about Hank by this point. But he didn't know he could dance.

"You're incredible," Connor says when they stumble out for air, breathless against the chill.

Hank laughs at that, wraps an arm around his shoulders and kisses his hair. "You are."

Connor slips himself into Hank's coat. "This is my favorite anniversary we've had," he says.

"Yeah," Hank says. Connor can hear the smile in his voice. "Mine too."

On New Year's Eve, while Hank is at the store, someone knocks on the door - an odd occurrence in their secluded area. Connor answers it, expecting a sales drone.

It's Chris and Tina instead.

"Surprise!" Chris says.

"Let us in; it's cold out," Tina whines.

Connor stands aside, staring at them as they file into the cabin. "Why..." he starts, but that's all the further he can organize his thoughts.

Chris claps him on the shoulder. "We go out on New Year's Eve. It's tradition."

"Yeah, but..."

"Hank told us where to find you, and asked if we wanted to fly out," Tina says. She grins as she nudges Connor with her elbow. "You have to tell us where the good bars are, Robocop." 

Connor feels tears pricking his eyes, and Tina says, "Oh, Jesus, don't cry about it. It's just us. We're not that great."

Connor shakes his head. "I'm just really glad you're here."

Tina's face softens, and Chris grasps his shoulder and says, "Yeah. Us too, man"

Tina waits until they're sitting down, and until Connor has recovered a bit, to elbow him again and say, "I can't believe you got _ married _ and you didn't tell me."

Connor reaches up to wipe his eyes. "You're more worried about that than me being..."

She doesn't let him finish the thought before she's saying, "Um...._ yes _. I can't believe you stood there and let me ask you if you liked Hank when you had already been dating for...how long was it at that point?"

"A year," Connor says weakly.

"A _ year _," Tina says pointedly, although it's followed by a smile. "I'm happy for you, Con."

And that's about the end of it. Hank gets home a few minutes later, and Connor meets him at the door and kisses him, and then he kisses him at midnight, too, at a bar downtown wearing his wedding ring, and he doesn't have to care if their friends see.

Connor doesn't know how to properly articulate it, so he doesn't try, but it makes him feel like he knows who he is, having people around him who see him.

(And people always need that, Connor supposes, but it means more than he can say now.)

As fireworks sound outside, ringing in 2039, Connor thinks about how this was always supposed to be the year things changed for them - the year Hank could retire with his pension, and the year they could finally be together, when all the pieces finally fell into place.

He thinks maybe it still is, even if it's not in exactly the way they thought.

January passes, and Connor never does watch the footage on the flash drive, although he keeps it with him for a while, in case he changes his mind.

There's nothing special about the night he decides he won't. He's sitting on the couch with Hank, Sumo at their feet and Tabby half draped across his lap, and suddenly he gets up and retrieves the drive from the bedroom.

Hank looks at him when he returns with it in hand, and watches as he walks over to the fireplace.

"You sure?" Hank asks him.

Connor smiles. "Yeah," he says, and drops it into the flames.

Hank settles his hands on Connor's hips when he lowers himself into Hank's lap and kisses him.

His life started with Hank. Hank was the first real thing he ever knew. Connor doesn't need to know anything else, about whose he was, or what.

He's Hank's, and he’s his own. That's all.

A news outlet does release Connor's name in February, but just the name, and only Connor's. Hank's goes unmentioned, and there's no picture being distributed along with his information.

A few days later, someone rings the doorbell, and Connor opens it to find someone he knows standing there, even if he's never met her.

"North," he says, surprised.

"Hi, Connor," she says. "I, um. I know we haven't met before, but I have something for you. Markus wanted it sent in person."

She hands him a booklet, and when Connor turns it over in his hand, he realizes it's a passport. His picture is inside, and the name Connor Anderson.

"Markus wanted to protect you as best we could," North explains. "We didn't know if we could stop your name from getting out, but he made it one of the non-negotiable terms of our deal, that new identification be provided for you with your married name."

"Oh," Connor says. He doesn't know what else to say. He keeps looking at the name, keeps realizing all over again that it's his. "Thank you."

"Anyway," North says, giving him a small smile. "I won't keep you. I think you could come home, though...if you wanted to. Things aren’t perfect, but they’re getting better."

Connor knows that's true. He and Hank were starting to talk about it, until his name was released. The evacuation order in Detroit was lifted a few weeks ago, and progress is being made with Markus' demands. Android autonomy was legally recognized last month. It's a long road, still, but the law says they're people, and that's where they have to start.

"Yeah," Connor says. "Maybe we will."

North nods. "We owe you," she says. "So much."

"I didn't do anything."

Hank comes out from the bedroom, and North looks at him over Connor's shoulder, giving him a small smile before she turns her attention back to Connor. "Yeah," she says softly. "You did. I'll see you around, Connor."

"Okay." Connor taps his passport against his palm. "Thank you."

He and Hank talk about it that night, and Hank says, "Are you ready to go home?"

Connor looks at his passport where it sits on the coffee table. "Yeah," he says. "I think I am. We can’t hide up here forever."

He knows Detroit will be different when they get there. But it's different for everyone...and maybe that isn't so bad

"March, 2039 was supposed to be when our lives started, anyway," Connor says, and Hank smiles and kisses his temple.

So they buy their plane tickets. They start packing their things from the house they've been treating as a home for months. Connor packs Amanda's rose with special care.

They make arrangements with Amanda and Chloe to ship their keys back to them. "Visit anytime you want," Chloe says before she and Connor hang up, and Connor tells her he will.

On their last night in Vancouver, he and Hank talk about what they’ll do for work when they get back to Detroit. Connor is worried about it - neither of them can return to the DPD, and they don’t have Hank’s pension to lean on.

“It’ll be okay,” Hank says. “We’ll figure something out. I mean, we’re good detectives. We can do consulting, or private work…”

Connor smiles at that. “You know, I think you’re an optimist. You’ve tried to tell me before that you aren’t, but...you are.”

“Yeah, well,” Hank says, shrugging. “I guess nothing ever looks that bad with you around.”

Connor isn’t sure he would call himself an optimist, even if he thinks Hank is one. But he knows the truth all the same, the same one Hank knows - their lives have gone up in flames, but they can build something else from the ashes, together.

They've done it before, after all.

The sun comes in high and bright first thing in the mornings - their bedroom window faces directly east. Connor has been waking up earlier because of it, and on the morning they're supposed to fly back to Detroit, he wakes up first. He turns over, into Hank, stretches against the length of his body and swings a leg over his hips.

He wakes him up by kissing him. Hank shifts under him, and Connor feels him smile before his eyes open. "Hey, baby," he says groggily. "You're up early."

Connor kisses him again, and again, and in between, he says, "I just missed you too much."

They set Connor's car to drive home without them once they're at the airport, and Hank holds Connor's hand as they wait in line at security. There are no temperature scan, no blood tests - there's not even a law anymore saying he can't travel, but Connor is still anxious.

There's no scar at the back of his neck from the incision where they removed the AI. Connor doesn't scar, he knows now - technology Kamski never figured out. But he feels it all the same.

But nothing happens. He hands over his passport, and his customs form, and the officer looks over everything and says, "Enjoy your trip, Mr. Anderson."

They drop Tabby and Sumo off at baggage, and they board, together. Connor falls asleep against Hank's shoulder during the flight, Hank's arm around him, and he stirs to the pilot saying, "Welcome to Detroit."

"Wake up, baby," Hank says against him. "We're home."

Connor sits up. His stomach does an anxious flip, but he says, "Okay."

And he looks down at Hank's hand in his, at their fingers laced together, at their wedding bands, and of course it's true, that they're home.

(But they always were.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm most active (yelling and writing other things like this!) on [twitter!](http://twitter.com/Jolli_Bean) You can also catch me reblogging HankCon art on [tumblr.](http://jolli-bean.tumblr.com) Come talk with me on either one, and thank you for reading! <3


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